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“ The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows ! 

If it were not with friendship and love intertwined; 

And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 

When these blessings shell cease to be dear to my mind.” — Moore. 



633 ^ 

fob 

, faint I’ant : 

PRINTING COMPANY, 

1866. 


PIONEER 



Y=/Z.2> 

.Or 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
DILLON O’BRIEN, 

In the Clerk’s Office of tlie District Court of the Distric t of Minnesota. 




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\ 


CHAPTER I. 


INTRODUCTION. 

In the winter of 185 — , I was located — perhaps it may- 
be more expressive to say — -I was frozen in, at La Pointe, 
Wisconsin. 

My house stood on a patch of land overlooking Lake Su- 
perior ; Mr. Robins, the Barnum of English auctioneers, 
would have described it as a romantic, airy residence. I, 
who wisii to adhere to truth, confess that it was a cold, 
windy, miserable shanty. 

At the. time 1 write of I had charge of the Government 
Indian ■ hool on the Island. The occupation of teaching 
was a new one to me, indeed, up to a late period of my child- 
hood, 1 had supposed that a pedagogue came, some how, 
into the world, spectacles on nose and birch in hand. To 
imagine that he had ever been a little, helpless child, ban- 
daged in swaddling clothes or that, like myself, in a tew 
years after the removal of the bandages, his exposed feel- 
ings were lacerated with a cane, were things too preposter- 
ous to be thought of. 

I cannot say that I have ever altogether lost this early 
impression ; so I accepted the situation of teacher, with a 
kindred feeling to Mr, Pickwick when he took upon him- 
self the office of coachman. “ All right,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
“with an inward presentment that all was wrong. But if 
teaching was new to me, my system, like Dr. O’Toole’s, was 
new too, which is a great thing nowadays ” 

On an evening towards the close of January, I was sit- 
ting in my shanty, my wife was getting the children to 
bed, and I had turned to the stove when their bright faces 


4 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


left me, but though, so far as imparting heat went, it 
was well enough, there was neither a smile or a story to 
be had from its black face. Then there came to me a long- 
ing — oh ! how intense a longing — for the blazing, cheerful, 
laughing lire in the big old family grate at home, with its 
castles and towers toppling down, its red knights and fiery 
dragons disappearing, little by little, up the wide chimney, 
until, with the recollection of the old fire place, came mem- 
ories of those who were wont to sit around it. 

My thoughts soon became sad, very sad, so I gave a kick 
to the stove to rouse myself from them, (thank God, a work- 
ingman has not much time to give to sad reveries.) and 
then went to the door to look out at the night. 

The door of my one sitting room was also my hall door, 
pleasantly opening to the lake, so that the wind could come 
in, in a free and easy way, without the formal ceremony of 
passing through a hall, and I have remarked that this is a 
favorite style of architecture in this part of the world, where 
the thermometer ranges for four months in the year, from 
fifteen to forty-five degrees below zero. 

I have no great knowledge of architecture, but I should 
judge this to be the cold, chaste style. 

The night was beautifully bright — cold, still and bright, 
with a million stars twinkling in the sky, but, what a dreary 
prospect did they look down upon. The snow covering the 
even surface of the ice, made the lake look like a vast, 
white desert, bordered by the dark outline of the shore of 
the main land. 

I suppose my short reverie had made me somewhat nerv- 
ous and discontented, for though the landscape before me 
was familiar enough, it struck me now with a strange chill ; 
it appeared desolation itself, not grand or awe-inspiring, 
but bleak, blank, and dreary. Not a living thing moved, 
not a leaf stirred in the night air, to speak of life ; the 
waves dashing against the shore would have done so, but 
the waters lay locked in their icy sleep. With such a scene 
before him, one might picture to himself creation at an end, 
the world, with all its sins and follies, and wonders worn 
out, the play over, the actors gone. 

I shut the door, and returned to the stove. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


O 


“ I wonder where they’ll bury it,” I said. 

t£ Bury what?” asked my wife, from the inner room. 

“The world, my dear;” I replied, “it’s dead outside, 
there.” 

My wife was about making some reply, when the sound 
of sleigh bells reached us. 

“There’s a sleigh,” said she, “I wonder who it can be at 
this hour.” 

“ No one to us, Lizzy,” I replied. “I don’t think any of 
our friends round here come it higher than dogs, and their 
approach is generally first announced to the calves of the 
legs of those who may be unfortunate enough to be in their 
way.” 

“But the sleigh has stopped at our door.” said my wife. 

“ Then, you may be sur$, it can’t get on,” I answered. 

At that moment there came a loud knocking at the door; 
I opened it, and a gentleman entered the room. 

“ Could you direct me,” he said, “ where” but he sud- 

denly stopped, and then added. 

“ Perhaps you are the gentleman whose house I was about 
to inquire for. Is your name ?” 

I answered, “yes.” 

He at once gave me his hand, and he did this in such a 
frank, pleasant way, that though I felt certain I had never 
seen him before, I gave it a hearty shake. 

“ If I am not mistaken,” he said, “ you and I have a mu- 
tual friend. You know G. C. ?” 

“ He is my dearest friend,” I answered. 

“ All right,” he said, “ I promised him to hunt you up, 
should I ever come to this part of the world. I have for- 
gotten, though, to introduce myself; my name is .’ 

« Of ?” I asked. 

“ The same,” he replied. 

“ Your name has been familiar to me since childhood,” I 
said, “and of late 0. has frequently written about you, I am 
glad to see you.” And again we shook hands. 

Very likely, I would have kept him standing in the cold 
some time longer, for when anything occurs which gives 
me great pleasure, I am apt to be a little absent minded, 
but one of the horses stirring made the bells ring. 


6 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I fear,” said Mr. , “ you have no place where I can 

put up my horses.” 

He had had a starlight view of my shanty, and its sur-' 
roundings, as he drove up. 

u A hen-coop—” I began, when he interrupted me. 

“ Don’t mention it,” lie said, laughing. u Not for worlds 
would I disturb the rooster.” 

“ No fear of that 4 ” I answered, joining in the laugh, “we 
ate the sultan and his whole harem, last Christmas. But, I 
was about to say, that though a hen-coop is the only place 
I have for live stock, still, I can get a comfortable barn for 
your horses ; so if you get over to the stove, I will take 
them along and see that they are attended to.” 

J ust then, my wife came into the room, with a young one, 
half dressed, holding on to her skirt, and peeping at the 

stranger from behind its folds. I introduced Mr. to 

my wife, put some wood into the stove, whispered to my 
little boy, who had taken advantage of my lowly position, 
to climb upon my back and ask me who the stranger was, 
that “ he was Fin McCool, the great Irish giant,” hoping 
that the information would induce him to make tracks for 
bed, telegraphed to m^ wife to get a little supper ready, 
and then set off to put up the horses. 

TV hen I returned, which I did as quickly as possible, I 
found my guest unshawled, sitting at the stove, with the 
child upon his knee. It seemed, in the short time that had 
elapsed between my going and return, they had established 
that commune of interests so long sighed for by Mr. Owen, 
for the little fellow had abstracted the pin which held my 
guest’s scarf, and was in the act of handing it to his mother 
to put away for him. 

We all have met with people to whom we have taken a 
dislike at first sight, and others again to whom our hearts 
were drawn the moment we met with them ; the lattev was 
the feeling with which my guest inspired me. To be 
sure, I had heard of him before ; heard much in his praise, 
and was predisposed to like him ; but, apart from this, 
there was something very winning in that handsome face 
now turned toward me. 

I felt convinced, that clear eye had never sought the 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


7 


ground in fear or shame, and the set of that handsome 
mouth, (*iow so soft in its expression,) showed, that though 
it might quiver at a tale of sorrow, it could grow stern, nay, 
fierce, in the presence of danger. 

Mr. ’s age, as I afterwards learned, was about fifty, 

but he did not look so old. His tall figure was so erect 
and elastic, his fine intellectual head, sat with such a light 
grace between his broad shoulders, and his features wore 
such a fullness of life in their expression, that as yet, there 
were none of the marks of decay about him; but neither 
had his features that fresh, effeminate look, which some- 
times deceives one, and which I look upon as very fright- 
ful. What can be more trying to the nerves, than to meet 
a man with pinky hair, pinky eyes , and pinky cheeks, and, 
just as you go up to the little fellow, to ask him what mar- 
bles he has got in his pocket, you find out that he is older 
than your grandfather ? 

Before my guest had well warmed himself at my fire, my 
heart had warmed to him. I found, too, that I was indebt- 
ed to him for a singular act of kindness, considering that 
up to this, we had been strangers to each other. 

In the course of conversation, he told me that he had 
come through from Saint Paul, on his way to Superior City, 
where he had some land he was anxious to see, before dis- 
posing of. 

“ But,” said I, “ this was not your direct route from Saint 
Paul to Superior.” 

“No,” he replied, “but I came a little out of my way to 
pay you this visit. I am not pressed for time, and I wished 
to keep my promise of calling upon you, which I made to C.” 

“ C., then,” I replied, “has added another to the many 
acts of kindness I have experienced from him, by engaging 
for me this pleasure. But how can I thank you? ” 

“l^fever mind doing so,” he answered. 

“ C. has often spoken of you, and I was anxious to meet 
with you.” 

“He could not have spoken much in favor of a ‘ne’er do 
weel,’ like me” 

“Oh, you want me to pay you some compliment;” he 
answered, “ well it is something in your favor that C. calls 
you his friend. And now tell me, how do you like America ?” 


8 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


<* 

“ Oh, like, is too poor a term,” I replied, “Hove America, 
I love it for it has given my children a home ; I love it be- 
cause it is the sanctuary where millions of my countymen 
have found refuge ; I love it for the atmosphere of freedom 
which fills it from the Atlantic to the Pacific !” 

“ I am glad to hear you say all this,” replied Mr. 

“ But when you speak of this country giving your children 
a home, why do you not include yourself also ?” 

I believe there was a shade of sadness in my voice as I 
replied: 

“ Because I cannot wean my heart from my old home ; 
it had struck its roots too deep in my native land to allow 
of their taking hold with the vigor of new shoots in another 
soil ; it is different with my children, though I would not 
have you suppose I fail to impress upon them that, wherever 
my bones may rest, their fortunes, their energies, their lives 
should be ever at the disposal of our beloved and sorrowing 
country. I trusfr that fidelity to Ireland will not incapaci- 
tate them from being good citizens of this country.” 

“ On the contrary,” replied Mr. . “ He who is forget- 

ful of his native land is ever ready to be traitor to that of 
his adoption.” 

/My friend, (for I have long since learned to call him such ) 
remained with me for four days. He intended staying but 
one, but the morning after his arrival a snow storm, which 
lasted three days, came to my assistance, and in this short 
time we became intimate friends. 

The evening after his arrival, as we sat around the fire, 
he remarked the children telegraphing to each other, and 
then the youngest sent on a whispering deputation to me. 

“ Ah, some mystery here ;” said Mr. “ I insist on 

being brought into the baby house. Tell me children, what 
papa is shaking his head and saying, Mio, no, 5 at?” 

“The fact is, 55 1 replied, “ I am in the habit of telliifg the 
children stories during the winter evenings; but I have 
claimed immunity for the short time you will be with us.” 

“ It is a very pleasant way of passing the evenings,” he 
replied. “But what say you my little fellow, (jumping the 
deputy on his knee,) to my taking papa’s place, for this 
evening ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


9 


There was a general clapping of hands at this proposi- 
tion, and the children all gathered around him ; he gave 
them a pleasant smile, and then looked at my wife and my- 
self; I believe we seemed just as well pleased and as anx- 
ious as the children. 

“ I will tell you,” he said, “ some incidents of my life 
which may interest you,” and he forthwith commenced. 

During the three subsequent evenings he remained, one 
or other of us drew him into speaking of himself, and his 
past life, by putting some question to him in reference 
to that which he had already told, and when he was about 
to take his departure, I said to him, — * 

“ You have seen what gluttons my children are for stories.” 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ they seem to have inherited the taste 
from their father.” 

u Well,” continued I, “ when you are gone, my time comes 
on again. Now, I have traveled so often to Bagdad that I 
tire of the journey; ‘open sesame,’ has lost its potent charm, 
my giants are on their last legs, and my fairies have be- 
come dull and common place. This being so, I will con- 
fess to you that I have, at leisure moments during the day, 
dotted down that which you told to us the night before, 
trusting that it would do me good service for many a day.” 

u Well,” he replied, “ what is there to confess in that ?” 

“ I was so pleased,” I answered, “ with the matter, and my 
own manner of cooking it, I have been thinking of revising 
it some day, and perhaps getting it into print, if I had your 
permission to do so.” 

“ What !” he exclaimed, “ make a hero of me ; no, no — there 
is none of that stuff about me ; don’t think of such a thing 
my dear fellow.” 

I suppose he noticed that I looked a little crestfallen at 
this, for he immediately added :• 

“ But do you really think you could make such common- 
place stuff readable ?” 

“ I do.” 

“ And that it would serve you ?” 

“ It might.” 

“ Then go ahead, old boy,” he said gaily, and I will assist 
you all I can. From time to time I have kept a journal, 


10 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


this, with some family papers, letters, &c., &c., I will send 
to you.” 

Two months after the above conversation, I received the 
papers alluded to. 

This, reader, is the parentage of the “ Dalys, of Dalystown.” 

I have availed myself of the privilege of an author so r 
as to arrange, as best I could, in a manner sftited for abli- 
cation, the materials left at my disposal ; how far I have 
succeeded, whether well or ill, is for others to say, but, 
whatever their verdict may be, I have been, to a certain 
extent, already repaid for my labor, for while dwelling on 
the past I have been won into forgetfulness of the present. 


CHAPTER II. 

A WELCOME HOME, A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 

. Somewhere, about forty years ago, when old gentlemen 
had faint recollections of their grandfatherswearing swords, 
hnd fast young gentlemen sneered at the “ old square-toes” 
for doing so ; before steam had puffed out all recollection 
of those barbarous days, when a gentleman’s honor was 
deemed of more value than his bond, and some few years 
before the laying down of the electric telegraph, or the 
raising up of 18, B, * on a fine evening in the month 
of August, 18 — , the “Tallyho” day coach, running be- 
tween Dublin and L , was seen passing through the 

principal entrance of Dalystown, a fine old place, situate 
and being, (as my friends of the legal profession would say,) 
in the county of Galway, and bordering the counties of 
Mayo and Roscommon. 


* City police. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


11 


This invasion of private property, on the part of the Tal- 
lyho, was. accounted for by the coachman, who informed 
one of his passengers that by getting in at this gate, driv- 
ing right through the demesne, and coming out on the 
opposite side, they avoided the half circle which the pub- 
lic road made, and shortened the distance fully a mile. 

It was much pleasanter too, to bowl along the smooth grav- 
elled avenue, than to travel the hilly, rutty road. So he 
was very glad to avail himself of the privilege of passing 
through the demesne, kindly given to him by the owner. 

As the coach came in view of the house, an elderly gen- 
tleman and a young girl were seen standing at the hall 
door, anxiously watching its approach, while a number of 
domestics and laborers were grouped around the entrance to 
the stables and farm yard, evincing, by their eager looks, 
that the approach of the Tallyho was watched, on this eve- 
ning, with unusual interest. 

Suddenly a man, dressed in an old, faded hunting coat, 
tattered corduroys, his. feet and legs free from the innova- 
tions of shoes and stockings, jumped up from the grass on 
which he had been lying, and as the coach came within a 
few .yards of him, he cast a keen look up at its roof, then 
flinging an old hunting cap high in the air, he shouted, as 
beheaded the coach, “Yoicks, Tallyho! here he comes, 
master, Mr. Henry himself, there’s his handsome face, be- 
hind Joe. Yoicks, Tallyho.” 

Presently the coach stopped in front of the house, at a 
distance of about forty }^ards, the intervening space being 
occupied by a round grass plot, encircled by a carriage 
drive. A young gentleman, who had been sitting behind 
the coachman, arose, and after shaking hands with one or 
two of his fellow passengers, lightly clambered down to 
the ground. The old gentleman and young girl advanced; 
but tjie step of age was all too slow for her impatience, so 
withdrawing her hand from the old man’s arm, she ran for- 
ward and flung her arms around the neck of the traveler, 
“Welcome, welcome home, dear Henry,” she said, “a thous- 
and welcomes, dear brother.” Thank you, Emily,” he re- 
plied, kissing her sweet lips again and again. “ How are 
you love, and how is my father ? What, you won’t let me 


12 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


go to him, now then,” and lifting her up, he ran forward 
with the blushing, laughing girl ; then placing her lightly 
on her feet, he flung himself into the old man’s arms, say- 
ing “ at home again, dear father ! 

“ Bless you, my boy,” exclaimed the old man, “ welcome, 
welcome back to us Henry, the sun did not shine as of old, 
while you were away. Let me look at you, (holding him 
at arm’s length,) I think, Emily, the fellow has actually 
grown ; ah, miss pussy, you have been at your old tricks, try- 
ing to keep him all to yourself. I’ll punish you for the slip 
you gave me, I will indeed. Come along, Henry, into the 
house.” And taking his son’s arm, while the young girl 
took possession of her brother’s disengaged hand, father, 
son and daughter advanced to the house, pausing at every 
step to say some endearing word, or to exchange loving, 
joyous looks. 

The sun, just then setting, threw a mellow rich light over 
the surrounding landscape, and, reflected on the many win- 
dows, made the house appear to be brilliantly illuminated, 
while those whom I have noticed as standing at the en- 
trance to the yard, now crowded to the hall door, for the 
purpose of giving their young master a homely welcome, 
ere he entered the house ; a proceeding that had been al- 
ready gone through by the gentleman in the red coat, and 
a couple of old hounds, seemingly, to their full satisfaction; 
for, as the former skipped about, with wonderful agility, 
the old dogs endeavored to keep up with him, now and then 
stopping to scent the ground, to raise their heads, and to 
give forth their sweet melody of tongue, which was an- 
swered from the yard by a host of dogs, in every key, from 
the shrill treble of the terrier to the deep bass of the watch 
dog. 

All and everything around spoke a right joyous welcome 
home. Even the coachman of the Tallyho seemed touched 
by the poetry of the scene, for not until the guard, who had 
been busy handing down the baggage, called out three 
times, “all right, Joe,” did he prepare to resume his journey; 
even then, as the coach moved off, he turned his head to- 
wards the house more than once, and when a bend in the 
avenue hid it from view, he said to the traveler who occu- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


13 


pied the box seat with him, “ you seen nice views to-day, 
Mr. Reynolds, between this and Dublin, but, I hold you 
now, none of them did you so much good as the sight we’re 
just after leaving behind us.” 

“You are right, Joe,” said the gentleman addressed 
“That’s a fine young fellow who has just left us, and I do 
not wonder at the joy his return home seems to give.” 

“ Seems, Mr. Reynolds,” replied Joe, “Oh! faith there 
was no seems about it, it was real, downright joy ; warm- 
ing the old man’s blood, laughing in the dimples of the 
young lady’s sweet face, jumping in the heart of the poor 
half natural you saw in the red coat. By dad, the dogs 
aself told one that a kind heart had come back to them.” 

“By Jove, Joe,” laughed Mr. Reynolds, “you are quite 
poetical.” 

“ He speaks from his heart, sir,” said another of the coach 
passengers, who seemed to have been an interested observer 
of the little scene they had just witnessed.. “ And when 
that is touched your countrymen, I find, are generally poet- 
ical.” 

“True, sir,” replied Reynolds. Then he added, as he 
slightly bent his head, “ I believe, Sir, you are a stranger 
in these parts ; at least, I do not remember to have seen 
you before in this, our kingdom of Connaught, and they 
say that John Reynolds, your humble servant, knows every 
one worth knowing this side of the Shannon.” 

The gentleman smiled good humoredly at this, not very 
happy address, as he replied, 

“Then, Sir, I am glad to be able to say, that I am a 
stranger, as it saves me from being obliged to rank among 
those unfortunates who are not worth knowing.” 

“ Oh, Sir,” replied the other, a little confused, “what I 
mean is, that all those whose position in society makes them 
conspicuous in our province, are familiar to the eyes of one 
who has spent his life amongst them. Your appearance 
tells me that you belong, in rank at least, to the class I al- 
lude to.” " 

“Well said, Mr. Reynolds,” exclaimed Joe, “faith you 
circumvented the mistake you made, well. The best horse 
will slip as well as the worst ; the differ is, that the good 
one will have a leg to spare, to save himself.” 


14 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


Both gentlemen laughed at Joe’s simile, for the coach- 
man of by-gone days was a privileged person, and, like 
his brother sovereigns, on his throne, with the reins of 
power in one hand and the lash in the other, could not be 
supposed to do wrong. Well, the poor coachman is gone, 
when will the kings follow? 

By this time the coach had left the demesne and entered 
upon the public road, when he who had announced himself 
as a stranger remarked: 

- 1 have been on this road before, coachman, but do not 
reme nber having passed through the demesne we have just 
left behind.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Joe, “I thought I remembered your 
face, wasn’t it coming on the assizes I had you down 
with me?” 

“ I believe it was.” 

“■So I thought.” Here Joe looked at his passenger and 
then at a small baize bag that lay at his feet, while ’a puz- 
zled look came to his face. 

“Well surely,” said the passenger, “we did not pass 
through this demesne.” 

“No, sir. Miss Daly was sick at the time, I remember, 
and we went round the road. Many’s the curse Joe Lowry 
and his coach would get if he disturbed her ! You’re com- 
ing down a long time before the assizes this year, Sir. 
Y’up, my darlings. Ah ! Tom, you rogue, at your old 
tricks.” 

And here I may inform the uninitiated that Joe, like 
most of his class, was in the habit of giving to his horses 
the names of those from whom they had been purchased. 

“ I am not going to the assizes, nor was I at the time I 
traveled last with you,” replied the gentleman. “I sup- 
pose,” addressing Mr. Reynolds, “you are acquainted with 
Connemara, your Irish highlands ?” 

“With every grouse mountain, trout stream, and pretty 
girl, in it,” replied Mr. Reynolds. 

“Ah, well I was there last year for a short time. I was 
stopping with my friend Mr. Martin, of Ballinahinch, but I 
made not war on bird or fish or pretty girl. I have some- 
what a taste for botany, and I met in Connemara with some 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


15 


.rare plants that I had not seen before, at least, to notice 
them, so I am now returning to make a more minute in- 
vestigation of them, and to compare them with others I 
gathered in the highlands of Scotland.” And he touched 
the bag that lay at his feet. 

“ And it’s nothing but bits of weeds you have in that bag 
Sir?” said Joe. 

“ Nothing, my friend, but what you would very likely 
call weeds, but which, nevertheless, cost me some money 
and trouble ; nor would I part with them for ten times the 
amount they cost me.” 

“Faith then, sir,” said Joe, “I have to ask your pardon. 
(Bad luck to you, Lyons, maybe that will make you keep 
out from the pole, you’re like the man that bred you, always 
trying to lean on your betters.) May I never sin, Sir, but 1 
thought you were an attorney, you see, Sir, of the bag, and 
your traveling the assizes’ time ; but it wouldn’t tit in my 
head after all; for just as the bag was getting it in, your 
laugh or your smile, or, above all, the clear look you give 
a body, would knock it out again. But here we are gentle- 
men, and you can get down to shake your legs, if you like, 
while we are changing horses. Anything new, Lanty ?” 

This was addressed to the hostler, who had brought out 
the fresh horses. 

“ Not a hdporth, Mr. Lowry, but a new collar, that the 
agent sent down, as he was afraid that Lyons was getting a 
tinder breast.” 

“Faith, Lanty, that’s more than his old master, the Attor- 
ney, ever had. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Eh, Lanty, I had you there.” 

“ You had so, Mr. Lowry, though sure Attorney Lyons 
aself is worthv of a new collar, af it was a hemp one. Ha! 
ha! 1m!” 

“ By dad, Lanty, you’re too many for we, I’ll let you alone 
after 'that. Now then all right, blow your horn, John, for 
the two gentlemen that were here in front.” 

“They’ve run on, Joe,” replied the guard, we’ll pick them 
up, all right.” 

“ I said Joe, “ do you see U at green bag under the 

seat, there?” 

“ A do I, what about it?” 


16 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Do you know what’s in it?” asked Joe. 

“Not a know, for what should I?” 

“Well, Lanty, nothing at all, but little weeds and grass, 
and one of them that’s run on told me that he gave his hat 
full of money for the same.” 

“ Oh ! by dad, that beats cockfighting,” said Lanty, “ ar- 
rah, Mr. Lowry, may be you’d be after axing him to buy my 
mother’s stack of hay, and lave the old woman rowling in 
her carriage for the rest of her life, ha ! ha! ha !” 

“ Off with you, you play boy,” replied Joe, making a pre- 
tended blow with his whip at Lanty. “Off with you, or 
Miss Blake there will be after making her heels acquainted 
with Lyon’s tender breast. Ye’up. my darlings,” and away 
rolled the Tallyho, at the then rapid rate of five miles an 
hour. 


✓ 


CHAPTER III. 

A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 

Godfrey Daly, whose meeting with his son, the reader 
has just witnessed, was, at the time I write of, about sixty- 
five years of age, but his appearance might have led one 
to suppose that he was some years older. He was, in 
fact, a fine specimen of that-class, now termed the gentle- 
men of the old school. Remarkably tall in his youth, his 
form was now slightly bent, his hair white as snow, and, 
combed back, displayed q forehead highly intellectual, but 
crossed with deep lines. At the corners and under his 
eyes, and at each side of his mouth too, there were these 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


17 


furrows of care, giving to his face an old and haggard look; 
but time, which had dealt so hardly with his other features, 
had left his eyes undimmed ; full, clear, and blue. When 
he became animated or excited, they were lighted up with 
the fire of youth itself, but in repose, there was a deep 
shade of melancholy in them which told one, that care or 
thought, or perhaps both, had lent their aid to years. 

A Catholic, of ancient family, one of those English fami- 
lies who, coming to Ireland at an early period, became 
“more Irish than the Irish themselves,” on liis return from 
the continent, (in his eighteenth year) where he had gone 
to complete his education, he found himself debarred, on 
account of his religion, from almost all the privileges of 
his class. This, at first, chafed his high spirit, but naturally 
of a sanguine, easy disposition, he soon became reconciled 
to that which he saw others, similarly situated, bear with 
too much indifference. Thus, eloquence, which would have 
adorned a senate, was wasted (I beg your pardon, young 
lady,) in toasting some race belle.; while energies and a 
daring spirit, that might have won for their possessor, in 
another country, a marshal’s baton, had now no higher ob- 
ject than, perchance, some daring feat of horsemanship. 

Wild, brave, generous, extravagant and hospitable, there 
was a chivalry in his nature ; a lofty ideal standard of that 
which should constitute a gentleman, which made him 
scorn all that was mean or ignoble. He was an admirable 
rider and keen sportsman, without acquiring the slang of 
the stable ; a convivial companion, free from the vices and 
vulgarity of the drunkard or the bully. He had passed the 
age of forty and was yet unmarried, when an event hap- 
pened which materially affected his future life. This was 
the death of an early friend, Gerald Dillon. They had been 
as brothers, in their youth, but Dillon, having become 
deeply implicated in some of those many plots that tyran- 
ny and injustice had invoked, was denounced to the gov- 
ernment, and in consequence, had to fly to France. 

Whether it was, that communication was difficult at the 
lime, or, that he feared corresponding with his friends might 
bring the latter into trouble, — whatever the cause might 


2 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


18 

be — certain it is, that on reaching France, Dillon abstained 
from all communication with his friend. 

Many were the anxious inquiries made by Godfrey Daly, 
relative to him, during the first year of their separation. 

He heard that Dillon had entered the French army ; then 
that he had married ; but as the bark of life drifts farther 
down the stream, memory often becomes neglectful of the 
dear ones she has parted with on the shore. Pray Sir, or 
Madam, how many have you forgotten that you tenderly 
loved once? As years stole on, fewer became Godfrey 
Daly’s inquiries after the fate of his friend, more vague the 
information which he received, until, at length, he had al- 
most ceased to think of him at all. 

One morning, as he mounted his horse with the inten- 
tion of going to a fox hunt, a letter, with a foreign postmark, 
was put into his hand. He opened it, looked at. the signa- 
ture, and the name, Gerald Dillon, met his eye. With a 
gush of old feelings rushing to his heart, he dismounted, 
returned into the house and read the letter. 

His old friend had written it on his death-bed. It in- 
formed Godfrey Daly that the writer had been wounded in 
a duel, there was no hope of his recovery, and that he was 
leaving his motherless child (a girl of sixteen,) entirely 
unprovided for. As he thought in agony of hei unprotect- 
ed, helpless state, left in a profligate city, without one 
friend, the remembrance of their early friendship came to 
him. 44 1 will not believe, Godfrey,” • he wrote, 44 that the 
world has changed you. No, I thank my God that I have 
thought of you in my extremity, and die, confiding to you 
the welfare and honor of my darling child.” 

This letter came .with another from the person with whom 
Miss Dillon was staying in Paris, which stated 44 that Lieu- 
tenant Dillon had died shortly after writing the letter now 
forwarded.” 

Godfrey Dillon did not hesitate in accepting the trust 
confided to him. He hastened to Paris, saw Annie Dillon, 
who had been prepared by her father to place full confi- 
dence in his friend, and proposed to her that she would at 
once return with him to Ireland. 

The poor girl, overwhelmed with grief, was glad to cling 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


19 


to one who had been her father’s friend, and she had been 
taught to loye the land from which he was an exile. So 
she willingly accompanied her protector, on liis return 
home. 

On their arrival in Dublin, Miss Dillon was placed under 
the protection of a female relative of her guardian’s. Many 
were the sly jokes indulged in by the friends of the hand- 
some bachelor relative to his young ward, but these were 
timely checked by Godfrey Daly’s knocking down a gentle- 
m an whom he thought too free in his friendly bantering. 
A duel of course followed, and Daly hit his man in the leg. 

“ Tom,” said a friend who chanced to meet Daly’s oppo- 
nent a few months afterwards limping on crutches. “Torn, 
old fellow, how are you, I have not seen you since that 
little affair with Daly, how did you get out of it ?” 

“Badly enough, Jack,” replied Tom, “ don’t you see I put 
my foot in it ? By J ove Daly was determed, at all events, 
that I should not dance at his wedding.” 

“ His wedding,” said the other. 

“ You did not hear, then,” said Tom, “ that he is going to be 
married to that little French girl he brought over with him ? 
Well, though he has spoiled my dancing, I expect he will 
ask me to the wedding, for you see I was a great means in 
getting him a pretty wife.” 

“ You ! how so ?” 

“Jack, my dear fellow,” replied his friend, “you were al- 
ways thick about the pate. Don’t you know if you want a 
woman to fall in love with you, your best plan is to light 
about her? If you hit the poor devil that stands the intro- 
duction, why all the better. Indeed, I have not the slight- 
est ill feeling against Daly and will drink his health in a 
bumper if he invites me. I often think how thankful 1 
should be to God for leaving me my trigger finger. What 
would I do if it was that, and not my foot which I lost ?” 

Whether Tom Mahon was right or not in his conjecture, 
that his duel .with Daly was a means in bringing about the 
marriage of the latter with his ward, he was certainly right 
in the fact itself, for in six months after her arrival in Ire- 
land she became the wife of Godfrey Daly. 

Well and truly did he fulfill the sacred trust confided to 


20 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


him by his dead friend. Tenderly did he guard the young 
stranger whom he had taken to his manly breast. Hope- 
fully did he look forward to the years yet left to him to love 
and be beloved. 

Vain hope! But five years had elapsed since his mar- 
riage when he laid his gentle wife in her early grave. Then 
did the lightning of great grief flash upon his soul, bending 
that stalwart form, furrowing that noble brow, and wither- 
ing those bright flowers her sweet presence had nurtured 
round his heart ; yet she left him not alone in the world 
that now seemed so bleak and cold. Her children were 
still left to him, and when the first keen agony of grief had 
subsided, how eagerly did he gather to his heart those links 
between him and his buried love. 

The love which Godfrey Daly lavished on his children in 
their infancy, was well repaid by them in after years. At 
the time this story opens, his son, Henry, was in his twenty- 
first year, his daughter Emily seventeen. Both bore a 
strong resemblance to their father, but with Emily, the 
proud, patrician features of the race was softened into win- 
ning loveliness. She was small in person, and herein re- 
sembled her mother; but look upon her, and you would be 
apt to fix her height as the standard of womanly perfection, 
and would not, for worlds, have her one bit taller. Her 
eyes were dark blue, her hair light brown, which she wore 
in a plain Madonna braid, (a style very unusual at the 
time,) and surely those white teeth and pouting lips would 
have grown proud of their beauty, but that two roguish 
dimples laughed them into humility. 

Mr. Daly’s property did not come to him unincumbered, 
nor was his that thrifty nature likely to redeem the extrav- 
agance of his ancestors. On the contrary, he had, previous 
. to his marriage, added to the debts he found upon it. After 
this event there was, indeed, a great improvement in his 
mode of life, and in his establishment. He no longer kept 
race horses or lost money on the turf. His house was no 
longer the refuge of a certain description of locust, then in 
being, namely, younger sons of country squires, who gener- 
ally spent, “ like gentlemen,” their portions within six 
months after receiving them, and ever afterwards felt re- 
lieved from the burthen and bother of calculation. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


21 


A true knight (if we are to believe old legends,) requir- 
ed nothing but his horse and armor, to go forth fully equip- 
ed in search of little adventures, such as routing a few 
thousand armed men, storming castles, rescuing distressed 
damsels confined therein, and the like. So your true 
squireen required nothing but his nag, a pair of top boots, 
leather breeches — mayhap his father’s — and which, very 
likely, he became possessed of the same day as that on 
which he received the maternal blessing and the paternal 
curse, with a positive injunction never again to enter the 
ancestral mansion — all four, (I mean blessing, curse, in- 
junction and breeches,) sitting on him with great ease ; 
and he went forth fully prepared to spend the remainder of 
his life, living on those who knew that his grandfather was 
a gentleman. 

Shakspeare says, “ what’s in a name?” Our squireen 
never heard of Shakspeare ; if he had, he would have pro- 
nounced him a d — d ass for so saying. “ What’s in a name ?” 
Every thing, Master Shakespeare. It was food, raiment and 
lodging to the squireen. It entitled him to turn up his 
nose at a Rothschild, horsewhip a duke, and swear by “ G — 
and his honor.” Peculiarly educated, his notions of things 
in general, I fear, would not suit this cotton age. Merch- 
ants he looked upon as pedlers on a large scale ; but he 
had a much greater respect for their less wealthy brethren 
who, pack on back, were in the habit of calling at his fath- 
er’s house. The latter could steal a hound, worm a dog, 
tell a good story, sing a good song ; aye, and they knew 
the best coverts in the country ; but those city chaps, d — n 
them, they did not know whether a horse’s tail should be 
behind or before. A tailor he looked upon as a miserable 
animal, created for the purpose of making clothes for gen- 
tlemen, and allowed, afterwards — for some unaccountable 
reason — to annoy them for payment. Then, as to literature : 
Poets he was rather mystified about. He had a vague no- 
tion that they might be tailors run mad. He had heard 
that they were always complaining and lamenting — so were 
tailors ; if so they were useless, and there was no use both- 
ering one’s head about them. Bailiffs, attorneys, and sub- 
sheriffs, all these come under the same classification — cas- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


niverous animals, feeding on the human race ; the destruc- 
tion of one or more of them, under any circumstances, and 
at all times, being the most meritorious action a man could 
perform while on earth. 

Gentle be thy sleep, squireen of old ! In these degener- 
ate days thy brother measures tape, or plies a pen in thy 
enemy’s office. Let not such things disturb thee. Calm be 
thy sleep, and if I have dealt hardly by thee in this sketch, 
I do repent me. 

Truly you drank hard after dinner, among your own class, 
but you did not tipple with loafers in bar rooms during the 
day. Your morals were not good, yet you used no slang 
in woman’s presence, nor did you puff your segar in her 
face. You would shoot your friend, but not allow him to 
be slandered in your presence. You were not prudent, but 
very brave, and through the bad soil of a bad education, 
there ran the red blood of a true knight. 

About two months after Godfrey Daly’s marriage one of 
those gentry called upon him, and actually spent two days 
at Dalystown. His host’s time being almost entirely taken 
up in planning improvements, or returning bridal visits 
with his young wife, our friend was left to employ his time 
as best he might, after receiving a hearty welcome from 
Mr. Daly. 

Alas ! how changed w T as every thing around him ; how 
different from that time twelve months. Yes, exactly that 
time twelve months he was at Dalystown. 

“ By Jove ! what glorious fun they had.” To be sure, Daly 
used to retire early, but he didn’t keep the key of the cellar 
under his pillow. He remembered having won one night 
fifty pounds from two Dublin spoonies, and was very near 
horsewhipping one of them the nexc morning for expressing 
i. egret at the circumstance. 

Then they had races once a week in the race park. Fini- 
gan, the steward, had told him, (with a grin on his d — n old 
mug,) “ that his master was going to divide it into sheep 
paddocks.” What profanation. Thus musing, he strolled 
about to try and find something to amuse him. But, “Othel- 
lo’s occupation was gone.” 80, after going to bed two 
nights ridiculously sober, he announced his departure on 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


23 


the third morning after his arrival. u Surely,” said Daly, 
“ y ° 11 are not tired of us so soon, and I have not, as yet, 
shown you where my new entrance is to be.” 

u No, no, my dear fellow,” he replied, u I am not tired of 

you at all ; and by Daly, it gives me sincere pleasure 

to see you so happy ; your wife is a lovely little lady, and 
if any married man can be happy you should ; but i may 
as well make a clean breast of it — my constitution never 
would be able to stand the regular hours you now keep.” 

But, however anxious Godfrey Daly might have been, at 
this period, to retrench, there was much to militate against 
his doing so successfully. The universal hospitality of his 
class, and the difficulty of knowing where or how to begin. 
If, for years, we accustom ourselves to luxuries and super- 
fluities, we at length come to look upon them as necessaries. 

He was a good landlord, that is, let his lands cheap, and 
was never known to dispossess a poor man. But his very 
goodness of heart caused him often to injure himself, and 
those under him ; for, by allowing them to sublet their 
lands or divide them with their children, as they grew up, 
his estate got crowded with a class of tenantry whose small 
farms would be unable to support them in any comfort, 
even if they held them in fee. Consequently, though the 
time for paying heavy interest came regularly round, the 
rents that should meet it were seldom forthcoming. To 
remedy this, the usurer and bill discounter, were applied to, 
and the result was, that Godfrey Daly was a deeply embar- 
rassed gentleman. 


24 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTEB IV. 

A FAMILY BREAKFAST — A LETTER — A WOULD DE GENTLEMAN 

DEATH. 

“ Well, Henry,” said Mr. Daly to his son, as the latter 
entered the breakfast parlor, on the morning after his arri- 
val home, “ I am glad to see your city life has not made you 
a stay-abed. I saw you this morning, from my bedroom 
window, at an early hour, crossing the park.” 

“ Yes,” answered his son. “ Six months absence from 
home has appeared to me an age, so I got up early to have 
a look at the old place. How beautiful and fresh the coun- 
try looks, to one who has been shut up in a city for any 
time.” 

“For the same reason, perhaps,” replied Mr. Daly, “that 
to^enj oy prosperity, it is said one must have tasted of ad- 
versity. ’Fore George, if that be the case, Ireland will be 
well fitted to enjoy it, should her day ever come. 

“I was pained, Sir,” said Henry, “ to find by your letters, 
that this part of the country was beginning to be disturbed.” 

“ Oh, awfully so. A morning seldom passes without our 
hearing of some outrage, committed during the previous 
night. As yet, no very serious ones have occurred, but 
sooner or later, such a state of things must end in blood- 
shed.” 

“ And what think you is the present cause ?” asked Henry. 

“ Cause enough, Henry,” answered his father. “ Oppres- 
sion and injustice on one side ; suffering, discontent, and 
folly, on the other. Such a state of society is like a well 
plowed field, ready for the seed ; nor is there found want- 
ing the devil’s husbandman to put it in. One or Wo ruf- 
fians appear in a district; no one knows where they came 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


25 


from, or where they go to ; some think that they are hired, 
in the pay of those whose interest it is to keep the country 
disturbed. Whether this is true or false, I cannot say. 
Well, these fellows mysteriously hint to the people that 
there is a great movement on foot to achieve freedom for 
Ireland. You know what a charm that word freedom has, 
for the Irish peasant’s heart. By it, many of them are in- 
duced to beceme members of secret societies ; they get 
pass-words and signs, nothing more, for they are told by 
the villains who ensnare them, that at present, they are not 
authorized to disclose more ; but, that the dupes may rest 
assured, the first men of the country are at the head of the 
movement. Presently, Kockite notices, as they are called, 
appear, posted up during the night. Some of these direct 
you to to turn out of your employment certain individuals ; 
others warn the people not to work for Mr. so and so ; the 
houses of the gentry are visited by night and their arms 
demanded.” 

“ This would lead one to suppose,” said Henry, “ that the 
people expected a general uprising.” 

“At first,” replied his father, “ but after a little, the whole 
thing degenerates into senseless lawlesness, and those who 
have been led, from such an idea, to join these secret soci- 
eties, find out, when too late, that they have become the 
dupes of designing knaves. 

“ Why then ” said Henry, “not at once withdraw from 
such a business ?” 

“ It is much easier, ” replied Mr. Daly, “ to jump into deep 
water, than to get out of it, if one does not know how to 
swim. There is no district that has not a certain number 
of idle vagabonds ; these are they who keep this lawless 
business alive. All the others are in their power, and afraid 
to withdraw ; for this reason, two policemen would put to 
flight a thousand of those midnight legislators, for nine out 
of every ten are there against their will. Indeed, I believe 
the greater number of them are forced to join these secret 
societies. They are called out of their beds at night, placed 
upon their knees, and threatened with instant death unless 
they become members. The unfortunate man thus com- 
pelled to join, lives in a nightmare of terror ; his actions 


26 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


are no longer his own, and he becomes a passive victim in 
the hands of scoundrels.” 

“Why not inform against them?” said Henry. 

“ There are many reasons to prevent his doing so,” replied 
Mr. Daly, “ one is the horror an Irish peasant has of being 
looked upon as an informer, which is quite enough in itself 
to deter him from taking such a step. Oh ! a heavy sin 
rests upon those whose injustice and oppression have so far 
debased a noble, intellectual, warm-hearted people, that, 
as in the present instance, their best friends stand aside, 
ashamed, and utterly unable to befriend them. But here 
comes Emily ; we must be very cautious, Henry, as to what 
we say on this subject, in her presence, for I half suspect 
she is a Ribbonman .” 

As Mr. Daly spoke, his daughter advanced and affection- 
ately kissed him. u Good morning, Henry,” she said, turn- 
ing to her brother, “ I am glad you heard what papa said, 
for if I am put upon my trial, you can prove that he is an 
unfit person to be on my jury, having prejudged my case.” 

“ You could not give a more potent reason, my love, to 
some I know, to prove me a fit and proper person to be on 
your jury,” replied Mr. Daly. “But come, here’s Henry, 
after a three hours’ walk, dying for his breakfast.” 

“ And I am most anxious to give it to him,” said Miss 
Daly, “ for I expect he will take a long ride with me after- 
wards.” 

“ I saw Medora out at grass this morning,” said Henry. 

“ Yes, but papa got the gray filly trained for me, and you 
and I are to have a race. Oh, Sir, you need not smile, but 
prepare for defeat. I assure you I long to have revenge 
for the many times your hunter, Fox, left my poor Medora 
behind, but you’ll find how quickly Beeswing will take his 
pride down. I got Tom to give her regular gallops, to pre- 
pare her for the contest.” 

“ Nay, that was scarcely fair, Emily, unless Fox was like- 
wise put in training, a thing, I assure you, I would not much 
approve of, if Tom was to act as trainer.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” replied Emily, laughing, “ but 
the poor fellow seemed so disconsolate in your absence, 
that I gave him as many offices as I could. However, as I 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


27 


neither went to fish or shoot, I fear I made but a poor sub- 
stitute for you.” 

“ Here he comes, from the post office,” said Mr. Daly, 
looking out of the window, and pointing to a person ad- 
vancing up the avenue. He was the same that we have 
already noticed the previous evening, as dressed in a red 
coat and hunting cap. These were now replaced by an old 
shooting jacket, and straw hat, the former dress being nev- 
er worn by him unless during the hunting season, or on 
state occasions. The return tome of his young master was 
one of these. He advanced at a jog trot with the mail-bag 
strapped by his side. 

In this enlightened age, when, in newspaper parlance, 
thought flies along the electric wire, and Muggins — green 
grocer and sovereign — expects to hear, through the news- 
papers, before going to church on Sunday morning, what 
they think in Europe, of the new front he gave to his 
store the previous week, with the American Eagle, like a 
dislocated scare-crow, crucified over his door, I almost fear 
to confess that I have been often disposed to envy the an- 
chorite of old, for the simple, stupid reason, that he re- 
ceives no letters. It is indeed pleasant to get a letter from 
a true friend, if you are so lucky as to have one. Most 
unutterable joy is it to know that the bra.ve, venturous son 
has crossed the sea in safety, and that he is toiling, with a 
stout heart, looking hopefully forward to the time when he 
will be able to make comfortable the old couple at home. 

That letter, too, with its ominous black seal, contains pre- 
cious words of infinite value — words of hope and love bo- 
yond the grave. Open it, poor father, with a trembling 
hand. Ah thy sight runs upon the paper! Strain not thy 
hot eyes. Yet a little while you may not read it ; but a 
time shall come when it shall speak to thee in thy childless, 
lonely sorrow, with an angel’s voice. Thy bright flower has 
withered, and even while death was taking her young life, 
she thought but of thee, of thee and heaven. Sweet, pure 
child, u she would be glad to go to her heavenly Father, but 
she weeps when thinking of you, and how lonely you now 
will be.” Then come words full of hope and promise. Bear 
yet a little, oh ! grief-stricken old man, and you shall meet 


28 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


your angel darling, never, never more to part. Oh ! better, 
far better, that she should have gone before you, pure, than 
to have been left to gather the stains of earth. You cannot 
feel this now ; but when the flowers she loved have faded 
and bloomed again, her parting words shall win you back 
to peace, and give you strength to say, u Father, thy will 
be done.” 

But with what vile companions have those gems of love 
and truth traveled. How surrounded by fulsome, insincere 
epistles. How jostled by lies and cold ingratitude. How 
crushed under the weight of bullying letters from those 
legal gentlemen, who charge three shillings and four pence 
for writing to a friend. 

When a man gets into debt, he may safely calculate on 
having an extensive correspondence from this latter quar- 
ter. Nor was Godfrey Daly’s case an exception, so the very 
mention of the post seemed to damp the spirits of the little 
family circle. Both father and son had refrained since 
they met from speaking on business, each thought he was 
cheating the other into a few happy hours. But it was not 
so. While Henry amused his sister with city gossip, and 
their merry laughs seemed to come from hearts that were 
strangers to care, sad thoughts hovered around them. While 
the eyes of the fond father turned to them with loving 
pride, the dark spectre, care, arose and stood between him 
and his children. 

u I will go,” said Mr. Daly, rising, “ and see what the post 
bring us to-day.” 

“ You have not finished your tea, papa,” said Emily. 
“Wait to do so, the servant will bring in the bag.” 

“No love,” he replied, “I shall not take any more, I feel 
the room somewhat warm,” and he passed out. 

“Poor papa,” said Emily, “I am sure he expects some 
unpleasant letters, and wishes to conceal them from us. 
You failed, dear Henry, in getting the loan you expected 
to raise?” 

“ Yes, entirely so, nor did I ever know, Emily, the real 
state ol my father’s affairs until I went among those law- 
yers and attorneys. Through kindness, mistaken kindness, 
he kept me in ignorance of them, and here have I been 


TIIE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


29 


spending money ; money, Emily, by right not ours ; for we 
stand on the very brink of ruin.” 

“ Oh !” said the young girl, speaking in a low, broken 
voice, “ this is very sad indeed. I knew that my father owed 
money, and found it impossible to collect his rents. I knew 
that he had heavy cares, although he endeavored to hide 
such cares from me. I knew all this for many a day, but I 
did not think, Henry, that — that” — Her voice failed her, 
and hiding her face in her handkerchief she wept. 

“Emily, dear sister,” said Henry, jumping up, and bend- 
ing over her, as he took her hand in his, “ what a brute I 
have been thus to fret you ; but I did not think you were 
such a coward. The disappointment in not getting this 
loan has worried and annoyed me, this time back, and when 
you alluded to it now, I felt fretted at having brought no 
good news home with me, and spoke too strong, much too 
strong. All will be well, now that I know how we actually 
stand, I have little doubt but that I will be able to arrange 
matters. And you, Emily, you were to have been my con- 
fident, my law adviser, but I find I cannot trust you, you 
are too great a little coward. 

“No Henry,” replied his sister, “you shall not find me 
so. I suppose I am a little nervous to-day, and you know,” 
she continued with a smile, “ we ladies are privileged to 
be so sometimes. Papa has not spoken to you on business 
since your arrival?” 

“No, but I intend introducing the subject to-day.” 

“No, not to-day, Henry,” she replied, laying her hand 
upon his arm. “ Nor yet to-morrow, nor for a few days, 
unless papa speaks to you himself on the subject. He has 
been planning for the last fortnight how we should amuse 
you on the first week of your arrival. You were to be 
made a regular stranger of, or rather I should say, an hon- 
ored guest — I was to bring you to ‘The Grove’ to visit — we 
were to take such and such rides — he himself was to have 
a day’s shooting with you on the bogs, and a hundred other 
little plans for your amusement, so we must not balk him ” 

“ Surely not,” replied her brother, “ a few days can make 
no difference. Would to God, I could think that while en- 
deavoring to make others happy, he felt so himself.” 


30 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWIf. 


As Henry ceased speaking Mr. Daly entered the room, 
and while doing so crumpled an open letter into his pocket, 
but his flushed cheek told the watchful, loving eyes that 
looked upon him, that its contents had pained him. How* 
ever, assuming a cheerful tone of voice, he said : “ Emily, I 
have a letter for you, which I think you will be glad to re* 
ceive ; so, pussy, pay the postage.” He bent over her 
chair, laid thb letter on the table, while she, bending back 
her head, kissed him. 

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I must be satisfied with such 
payment, though it is not exactly what Mr. John O’Roark e 
would call 4 current coin of the realm.’ Is not that letter 
from Rose ?” 

44 It is papa,” said Emily. 

After a fow moments silence, during which she read her 
letter, and Henry had walked to the window, the former 
said, 44 Poor, dear Rose, she is well and happy, &he says, as 
happy as she can be, away from Dalystown. She sends you, 
papa, her benefactor, as she calls you, a thousand loves. 
She also sends her love to you, Henry, as she supposes you 
have returned home by this time.” 

44 1 am truly glad to hear that she is well and happy,” re- 
plied Mr. Daly. 44 1 never doubted her warm heart, though 
I never could make out why she should go to Liverpool, to 
live with her aunt, whom she had never seen. I always 
wished her to consider this her home, and indeed, I looked 
upon her, I may say, as my own child, rather than one whom 
Providence had made, for a time, dependent on me.” 

The moment it was mentioned from whom Emily had 
received the letter, Henry turned to the window. He now 
replied to his father’s remarks, while his face was still 
averted : 44 Perhaps, Sir, it was the consciousness of this 

dependency that made her desirous to go to one who was 
so near a relative.” 

44 Oh no,” replied Mr. Daly, 44 1 hope that could not have 
been the reason. Indeed I was wrong to use the term ; for 
Rose was no dependent, as the word is understood. She 
knew we loved her, and would feel her loss ; she saw how 
hard we found it to part with her; indeed no one could 
have felt the parting more painfully than she did herself, 
poor child, yet she would go; why, is a mystery to me. ” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


31 


Could Mr. Daly have known his son’s thoughts, as the 
latter stood gazing out of the window, they might, per- 
chance, have thrown some light on this mystery. 

“ By-the-by, Henry,” continued Mr. Daly, “ I do not 
think you asked once about Rose since you came home.” 

Emily raised her eyes to where her brother stood ; his 
back was still turned toward them, and so intent was he, 
at that moment, looking at something in the park, that he 
did not seem to have heard his father’s last remark, so she 
answered for him. 

“You forget, papa, that at the time of her going, I wrote 
to Henry all the particulars. He had nothing to ask that 
I had not already informed him of. (Oh! woman, how ad- 
mirably you can manage to get a man out of a scrape, and 
into one too.) I will run up, Henry, and put on my habit, 
while you go to order out the horses ; that is, unless papa 
Wishes to bring you to slaughter grouse.” 

“No, not to-day,” replied Mr. Daly, “I have some letters 
to write ; so you and Henry had better go and test Tom 
Gallaher’s capability for training.” 

Now, while Emily is putting on her riding habit, and 
Henry has gone to order the horses to be saddled, I will 
take the opportunity to tell the reader who Rose O’Donnell 
w*as. 

I have no doubt bu that this true and simple story will 
be read by some fair ladye , who, very likely, would wish 
me to throw some romantic shadowing around the birth of 
this young girl. Nothing could be easier than to do so. I 
might place her in a shattered boat on the ocean ; have her 
carried to the Irish shore, by a faithful Newfoundland dog, 
and a likeness, taken at the time, together with a small 
trinket, set, of course, in costly diamonds, found round the 
child’s neck, would eventually become the means of re- 
storing her to her father, a French marquis. But truth com- 
pels me to acknowledge, that there was nothing remarka- 
ble or romantic in either the birth or parentage of Rose 
O’Donnell. She was the orphan daughter of a former stew- 
ard of Mr. Daly’s. Both her parents had died when she was 
but four years "old. Her father had been a faithful, honest 
man, and. on his death, Mr. Daly brought his child to Dalys- 


32 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


town, intending that it should he her future home. He 
made her the companion of little Emily ; they slept in the 
same room, played together, quarrelled, kissed and made up. 
When Emily was old enough to have a nursery governess, 
Eose was likewise instructed in the mysteries of reading 
and writing. In fact, Mr. Daly made no distinction be- 
tween the children, judging that at so early an age, it was 
not necessary to do so, and by the time his daughter was 
old enough to have an accomplished governess, Eose had 
become so dear to him, that he would not think of depriv- 
ing her of the advantages she would derive from receiving 
instructions with Emily. 

Few in this country could think that an education which 
refined and expanded a young girl’s mind, could lead to 
aught but happy results. Yet it had the effect of cloudr 
ing the otherwise happy, tranquil life of Eose. The more 
her intellect expanded and the more refined her ideas be- 
came, the more painfully she perceived the gulf, (which, 
to her seemed impassable,) between her and that society 
which education and nature had fitted her to adorn. In 
her simple nature, she believed that gentle birth was in 
itself a virtue, lacking which she should look upon herself 
as inferior to many whom she far excelled in education and 
in every noble attribute of our nature. As she advanced 
in years, and her strength of mind became fully developed, 
she might, indeed, have learned to think lightly of the 
chance advantage of birth, had not a circumstance arisen 
which brought it painfully before her. This was love. 

At the age of ten, Henry was sent by his father to school. 
His return home during vacation, was hailed with equal 
joy by Eose and Emily. At sixteen he went to Dublin to 
enter Trinity College. As he took his seat behind Joe 
Lowry, on the Tallyho, he debated with himself why Eose’s 
parting kiss seemed so much sweeter than his sister’s, and, 
after giving the subject mature consideration, he arrived at 
the very natural and happy conclusion, that he was desper- 
ately in love with Eose O’Donnell, who was the most beau- 
tiful being the world ever saw. All which goes to prove 
that Henry Daly was a very precocious young gentleman, 
and one likely to distinguish himself in College as a 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWK. 


33 


science scholar, having already elucidated, to his own per- 
fect satisfaction, cause and effect, in his schoolboy days too. 

Rose missed Henry from their plays much more than 
Emily did. She was constantly making mental calcula- 
tions of the number of months he was to be absent, and 
wdien these were divided by weeks and days the sum total 
was anything but satisfactory to the little maiden. 

I will refrain from inflicting on my readers a chapter on 
childhood’s loves. Suffice it to say, that wdien Henry was 
twenty, and Rose some three years younger, they loved with 
that* intense, fresh, unselfish affection which belongs alone 
to first love. 

We may love again, but where, oh ! where, is that fresh, 
ecstatic joy, that blaze of dazzling light which met the 
young heart as it rushed forth to its beloved ! And now 
did Rose perceive the barrier that Society had raised be- 
tween her and Henry Daly. He, indeed, would have broken 
it do.wn and trampled upon it. What were the conven- 
tionalities of society to him ? What cared he, how humble 
Rose’s birth might have been, he loved her ! Lo.veti her 
with all the ardor of his nature, with all the truthfulness of 
his soul. But, could she accept this love, knowing, as she 
did, hov r keenly alive Godfrey Daly was to the pride of 
birth ? Was it from her hand — who, since her childhood, 
had been the recipient of his generous kindness— he was to 
receive a blow that would crush him to the earth ? How 
often had she heard him declare, that he would deem it one 
of the greatest misfortunes that could befall him, to see his 
children married to those beneath them in birth. And 
what was she? the orphan child of his servant ; the creature 
of his bounty. No, she too, humble-born as she was, had 
pride ; a noble and commendable pride. It should support 
her in the path which duty, honor and gratitude, marked 
Qut for her. She would battle against this love — crush it, 
even should she crush her heart in the struggle. 

Having formed this resolve, she wrote to an aunt of hers, 
residing in Liverpool, but whom she had never seen, asking 
her relative to precure for her a situation as governess in 
some respectable family. In due time she received an af- 
fectionate answer to her letter, in which her aunt invited 
3 


34 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


her to her house, to remain there until a suitable situation 
would offer : “ unless,” added the good lady, “ I can induce 
you to remain with us altogether.” 

Rose now but waited for Henry’s absence from home to 
take her departure, and in about a month after receiving 
her aunt’s letter he went to Dublin ; she then, for the first 
time, confided to Emily the step she was about to take, and 
her reason for it, and as the girls wept in each other’s arms, 
Emily had reluctantly to acknowledge that Rose was right. 

“ My father,” said the sobbing girl, “ thinks so much ot 
old families, prides too, so much in Henry ! speaking, as 
you have often heard him, Rose, about his raising the fallen 
fortunes of our house, that I fear, (pardon me, dear Rose,) 
it would break papa’s heart did he know you loved one 
another.” 

“I know it, dear Emily,” replied Rose. “ But I, too, have 
pride ; and, I trust, better motives, gratitude and duty, to 
support me. And now, Emily, listen to me : Henry knows 
not, and must never know how much I love him ; must 
never know that it is this love that drives me from Dalys- 
town. Promise me this.” 

“ But he will think you unkind, cold hearted, thus to 
leave us for strangers.” 

u It is better, Emily,” she replied, “ that he should even 
think me all this, than to know how truly I love him. I 
know his warm, impulsive nature. Did he know the truth 
it would lead to those misfortunes I go to prevent. Emily, 
I am older than you, my position, too, so different from 
yours, has made me think more. Promise me, love, that 
Henry shall not know my motive for leaving Dalystown.” 

“I promise you, Rose ; but tell me, what reason shall I 
give him ?” 

“ Oh, tell him,” replied the poor girl, as she attempted to 
smile — “ that I got tired of a country life ; that I longed for 
town and town lovers. My God !” she continued bitterly, 
“ It is hard, thus to vilify one’s self to those we love. Yet 
I would not, Emily, it should be always thus. At some dis- 
tant day, when Henry — married to another — whom, I pray 
God, may love him as well as I do — in far off years, when my 
name, almost forgotten, can renew no old memories in his 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWX. 


35 


heart — then tell him my motive for thus dashing the cup ol 
happiness from my lips.” 

It was thus the orphan girl went forth from the homo 
that had so long sheltered her ; and God’s angels walked 
with her, to support her tottering steps. 


CHAPTER Y. 

IX WHICH WE MEET WITH A FIXE, WOULD-BE GENTLEMAX, AXD 
WITH DEATH. 

When Henry left the parlor he found Tom Gallaher loit- 
ering about the hall door. Henry told him to go and get the 
horses saddled and brought round. They soon made their 
appearance, Henry’s hunter, led by the groom, Tom, in all 
the pride of office following w T ith Beeswing. 

“ So ho, Beeswing !” he said, “ So ho, girl, musha hut’s 
yourself that’s playful this morning. Look at her, Bill, isn’t 
ishe a darlint f Oh ! by my song, there’s nothing like the 
blood in man or beast.” 

u She’s a nice daisy cutter enough, Tom,” replied the 
groom, “ but I’d like to know how long them spindle shanks 
of her’s would keep her along side of Fox here across a stiff 
country ?” 

“Who’s talking about a stiff, country?” replied Tom. 
“ Everything in its own place, Bill. By gorras, I believe if 
a body was to tell that Miss Emily,’ (God bless her,) was 
the beautifulest young lady you could meet with— which 
every one knows she is, without telling a tale— you’d up’s 
and be for saying you’d like to see her trying her hand with 
8quire War bur ton at a stiff bowl of punch.” 


36 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ It’s not my way, Tom,” replied the groom, “to meddle 
with my betters, like some I know.” 

“ Like some you know,” said Tom. “ That’s me, I sup- 
pose, consumen to your impudence. It’s no admiration, 
avick, that I should speak of the quality, seeing I was 
reared among them, egg and bird. So ho, Beeswing. By 
dad, Bill, you’re frightening the mare with Xh&tpurty squint 
your early edjication gave you.” “ How was that, Tom?” 
said a stable boy present, as he winked at some laborers. 
How’s that,” replied Tom, “ musha, I thought the world 
knew how Bill got his squint,” “Devil a know, tell it to us,” 
called out two or three. 

“ Well, you see, when he was a gorsoon,* he used to be 
going round to the stations with Father O’Leary, sarving 
mass and minding his pony ; and when the priest would 
be hearing confessions, Bill would be sitting in the kitchen, 
one side of the fire, with his eyes turned lovingly to the 
spot thatwould be boiling upon it ; and right knowledgable, 
faith, that same devarsion made him, in the way of vittels, 
until, in the long rnn, he’d tell you by the froth that’d be 
coming over the lid, what was in the pot for the priest’s 
dinner, and he’d say, quite natural like : ‘ Mrs. Casey, ma’am, 
the leg of mutton is done to a turn ;’ or, 4 tear an-ounds, 
widow Murphy, woman alive ! the dacent bird in the pot is 
boiled to rags.’ So you sec, boys, the turn such employ- 
ment gave his eyes, stuck to them ever since.” 

Tom’s story elicited shouts of laughter, which lasted until 
Emily and Henry made their appearance. 

Mounting their horses they set off at a canter through 
the park. When outside the gate they reined in. “Well,” 
said Henry, “I feel as if even that short canter did me good, 
I know not how people can be contented to live cooped up 
.in cities.” 

“ Habit, I suppose,” replied Emily, “ does much in those 
matters, you remember your friend, Mr. O’Gorman, who 
came down with you from Dublin, and how he used to won- 
der what pleasure you could find risking your neck twice a 
week hunting a nasty red cur.” 


* A young lad. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


37 


“Yes,” said Henry, “ and I suppose one of our city belles 
would hang herself in her garters if she was doomed, for 
three months, to lead the lonely life that you do. But who 
comes here ?” 

This remark was caused by the appearance of a horseman 
approaching them at a rapid pace. 

u But,” said Emily, “ that riding in quick haste has some- 
what discomposed his usual graceful carriage, I should say 
that it was that beau ideal of all that is elegant, Mr. Timo- 
thy O’Koarke.” 

“ You are right, Emily,” replied her brother, “ it is Tim — 
or, as his father disrespectfully calls him — Timmy. But has 
the man lost his senses that he comes powdering along at 
this John Gilpin pace?” 

When the advancing horseman recognized those whom 
he approached, he drew in rein a little, and as he now ad- 
vances at a more temperate pace, I will endeavor to de- 
scribe his appearance. He was about two and twenty; 
his face was very red, which might have been caused by 
hard riding. His hair and whiskers were very red like- 
wise, a circumstance which could hardly have been the re- 
sult of equestrian exercise. He had light, straw-colored eye- 
brows, fishy eyes, and a coarse, sensual mouth. He wore a 
green coat with gilt buttons, ornamented with foxes’ heads, 
and a showy plaid waistcoat. A red scarf was fancifully 
tied round his short neck, with a pin, also a fox’s head, 
stuck prominently in front. His hunting whip, which he 
carried in his hand, asserted that he was a gentleman, for 
round the top of the handle was a silver rim, on which was 
inscribed, “ Timothy O’Boarke, Esq.” But that which his 
whip asserted, his appearance, manner and whole nature 
denied. 

Such was Mr. Timothy O’Koarke, who when making an 
abortive attempt to raise his hat in the style he had seen 
young Lord Oranmore do, “ hoped he saw Miss Daly well.” 
“Mr. Daly,” continued the young gentleman, “I rejoice to 
see you, you’re welcome home, sir.” 

“Thank you, O’Boarke,” replied Henry, “ but what has 
happened to make you go at such a break neck pace along 
the road?” 


38 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


“ Our house was attacked last night, Mr. Daly, by those 
d — n Eibbonmen, — I beg Miss Daly’s pardon for swearing; 
but some of them got more than they expected, for my 
father and myself fired out of the lobby window at the 
scoundrels, and this morning we found marks of blood in 
front of the house, and down the avenue.” 

“ My God,” exclaimed Henry. 

“Fact, sir, I assure you,” continued Tim. “’Pon honor 
I do not know what the country will come to, if gentlemen 
are to be attacked in this way, in their own houses. I was 
about calling on your father, to lodge information of this 
outrage, when I had the pleasure (glancing at Emily,) of 
meeting with you and Miss Daly.” 

“ You will find my father at home, sir,” replied Henry, 
u pray let us not detain you.” 

“No, no, all right,” said Tim, “you see, though the 
guvner is a magistrate, we thought it better that another 
should act in this matter.” 

“ I do not understand you,” said Henry — which I fear 
was a little white lie. “ Pray who may the governor be ? ” 

“ Dad, of course ; I call him guvner.” 

“ I was not aware that your father was a magistrate.” 

“ Oh yes,” replied Tim, “ the Lord Lieutenant has ap- 
pointed him, and sent him, I assure you, a very compliment- 
ary document, in which the King calls the guvner his 
well-beloved cousin.” 

“ Indeed,” said Henry smiling, “ I dare say you were not 
before aware of the relationship.” 

It was foreign to Henry’s nature to say anything hurtful 
to the feelings of another, but it must be confessed that 
just then lie did not feel very amicably disposed towards 
Mr. Timothy O’Roarke, whom his last remark touched on 
the very tenderest point. 

“We detain you,” added Henry, “from calling on my 
father ; good morning.” 

“ Good morning,” replied Tim, “good morning, Miss Daly.” 
Again the hat was raised, but Henry’s remark had so con- 
fused the King’s relative, that he signally failed to raise it 
a la Oran more. 

Then, as they passed out of hearing, he exclaimed, “ curse 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


39 


your impudence and beggarly pride, I’d have you to know 
that your father owes my father (he was natural now and 
forgot to call him guvner,) some thousands. Aye, and by 
G — , he can foreclose the mortgage whenever he pleases.” 

“ The girl, too, she’s as proud as Lucifer, but deuced pretty ; 
how cold she looked ; I believe that’s the way with them 
kind of cattle. ’Pon honor, I have half a mind to fall in 
love with her. I’ll speak to the guvner about it; I think 
it he put the screw on the old fellow I could have her for 
the asking. Every girl wants to get married, and I don’t 
see what objection this one could have to me.” 

Here he drove his fingers through his red locks, and 
having by this time fully established himself in his own 
good opinion — quite an easy task — he proceeded on to 
Dalystown. 

“Hang that fellow,” said Henry, “his vulgar airs are 
unbearable. Those unfortunate, mad wretches too ; some 
of them must have been wounded, perhaps killed, in their 
lawless, senseless attack on O’Roarke.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Emily, “ Mr. Tim O’Roarke has exag- 
gerated the matter, in order to set off his own valor.” 

“No, no,” replied her brother, “he spoke the truth. 
I saw triumphant malice in his white eyes, when he spoke 
of finding the marks of blood. Come in, Emily, we will 
get in here, have a canter across the fields and return by 
the lower road; I am anxious to get home.” 

“ I wish we had been a few minutes earlier,” said Emily, 
“ and we would have avoided meeting with that odious 
creature ; his news has destroyed the pleasure of our ride.” 

Half an hour’s riding brought them out on the road 
Henry had spoken of, and they turned their horses’ heads 
homeward, but they had not proceeded far, when, on com- 
ing to a turning, the wild wail of the Irish cry startled them. 
Of all sounds, this is the most wild and sorrow-burdened. 
Familiarity cannot blunt its effect, and the stranger, who 
hears it for the first time, instinctively knows that death has 
struck one of its mighty, soundless blows close to him. 

“ Oh ! Henry,” exclaimed Emily, “ the cry proceeds from 
widow Donelan’s house; what can have happened to her? 
I did not hear that she was ill, and her son, Mike, was at 
Dalystown yesterday.” 


40 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Something very dreadful and sudden has happened, 1 
fear,” replied Henry. “ See how the women run in and out 
of the house. People are coming across the fields in all 
directions. As I live, there is a policeman standing at the 
door. May God help her if anything has occurred to her 
son. Stay you here, love, and I will ride on to make en- 
quiries.” 

“ Oh, no ; I will go with you.” 

“ Very well ; but you must not come down to the house.” 

They quickly arrived at the by-lane leading to the house, 
and leaving his sister on the road, Henry galloped forward. 
Springing off his horse, he entered the house. As he did 
so, a number of men, crowded round the door, took off 
their hats and made room for him to pass, thereby giving 
him a full view of the interior. 

Eight before him was a table on -which lay extended the 
dead body of a young man. The grave clothes were turned 
down at the top, leaving the face, finely developed throat, 
and the upper part of the broad chest exposed to view. A 
sculptor would have taken that form as his model of manly 
strength and beauty. 

On the left side of the chest appeared a small wound, 
with a bluish rim, from which oozed a small quantity of 
blood. 

On each side of the body sat six or seven women, one of 
whom was engaged, from time to time, in stanching the 
wound. 

At the head of the table sat another woman. Her head 
was bent down to the face of the corpse, her lips closely 
pressed against the cold, pale forehead. Neither cap or 
comb confined her grey hair, which, falling loosely down, 
lay scattered over the dead man’s face and neck, contrast- 
ing strangely with his rich, brown curls. Her body rocked 
slowly from side to side, keeping time with her low moans. 
No need to tell that this woman was a mother, mourning 
over the dead body of her son. 

Henry Daly’s face blanched, his lips quivered, and his 
limbs trembled as he gazed upon this scene. Michael Don- 
elan had been an humble companion of his, in many a fish- 
ing and shooting excursion. His joyous nature, and great 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN- 


41 


skill in all manly, rustic feats, had made him, irom his boy- 
hood, a special favorite with Henry; and, strange as it may 
appear, many a funny story told, many a wild prank played, 
many a daring feat of skill and courage achieved by the 
dead man, crowded to Henry’s memory, and were as viv- 
idly before him as the cold, marble face on which he gazed. 
His friendship for the young man was well known to those 
present, and his appearance w r as the signal for a fresh burst 
of lamentation. 

After a few moments an old man got up from where he 
had been sitting, and advancing to Henry, touched him 
lightly on the arm. The latter started and turned round. 

“ This is a sorrowful sight, Mr. Daly,” said the man. “ A 
sorrowful, dark sight.” 

“ In God’s name, Marks,” exclaimed Henry, grasping the 
other’s arm, “ how did this happen ? What has occurred ? ” 

“ Come out in the open air, sir,” replied the old man, as 
he glanced at two policemen present. “ Clear the door 
there, boys, for Mr. Daly to pass out. It came with too 
great a surprise for your tender heart. They shouldn’t 
have let you in afore breaking it to you ; come out, sir, the 
air will revive you.” 

So speaking, he led Henry out of the house, and some 
little distance from it. 

4 Here, sir,” he continued, “ sit down upon this cart, my 
poor young gentleman, you look quite weak.” 

Henry indeed felt weak and sick, and was glad to sit 
down. 

“ Did you hear, Mr. Henry,” resumed the old man, “ that 
the boys were at O’Roarke’s last night ? ” 

“ I did — I did,” replied Henry ; “ I met young O’Koarke, 
and he told me so. Oh ! I see it all now,” he exclaimed. 
“ But surely, I thought that Mike was too well behaved — ■ 
had too much respect for his character-loved his poor 
mother too well, to join himself with those night-walking 
vagabonds.” 

“ You are right, there, sir,” replied the other. “ He was, 
in a manner, as much against their goings on as yourself 
could be. But what could he do, if them kern for him that 
would not be put off? and I misdoubt but he was with them 


42 


THE DALYS OF PALYSTOWH. 


last night when O’Roarke’s house was attacked. Anyhow, 
when his mother opened the door this morning, her come- 
ly, handsome hoy fell in upon the fiure to her, cold and 
stiff.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Henry, “ the cruel, heartless, cowardly sav- 
ages that left him there. I wonder his unfortunate mother 
did not fall dead at such a sight.” 

“ It would be a great marcy if she did, sir,” replied his 
informant. “ But you see when those who were with Mik© 
saw that he was dead, I suppose they got afraid. They 
dursn’t bring him into any house, for fear it might discover 
on some of themselves ; and if they left him in the fields, 
the dogs or pigs might illuse the poor body, so they rolled 
straw ropes about it, and left it standing up against his own 
door.” 

“ It was a cruel, savage act,” said Henry. 

“No doubt it was, sir, if them that did" it bethought of 
themselves. But likely the fright they got when they found 
that Mike was dead, confused them in a manner, that they 
did not think about what they were doing. But now listen 
to me, Mr. Henry, and mind what I tell you. I am an old 
man, sir, and remember the troubled times* — aye, and tuck 
my part in them. I saw as bad as this happen, and worse, 
by far. Now, sir, remember I tell you, so sure as you are 
forenint me, last night’s business will not end until there is 
more blood spilt.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Henry. 

“ You see, sir,” replied the man, “ that up to this th© 
Ribbonmen, or Terryalts, did not go beyant posting up 
threatening notices, and taking guns from those they did 
not like to have them. Last night, Mr. Daly, was the first 
time that blood was spilt, but it will not be the last.” 

“ I fear not, Marks,” said Henry. 

“Blood will have blood, sir,” continued the man, “ and 
before winter is over O’Roarke will sup sorrow for last 
night’s work.” 

“ Stop, old man,” exclaimed Henry, “ you should not say 
such things, nor should I listen to them. O’Roarke did 
nothing but what any other man in his place would do.” 


* The rebellion of ’98. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


43 


u Oh, Mr. Daly,” replied the man, “ what I say to yon, I 
would not say forenint others. Your father knows me, Mr. 
Henry, tor many a year, and he knows, sir, I would put a 
stop to this business if I could.” 

w I believe you would, Marks, and I am sorry if I spoke 
cross to you.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Henry,” replied the old man, you and yours 
are welcome to say what you please and ask no pardon 
about it. You say true enough, O'Roarke did nothing last 
night but what any other might do in his place. But 
what is he doing all his life, sir; how did he make his mon- 
ey ? . How did he raise his head from the dirt, until he got 
to sit cheek by jowl with snch a gentleman as your father, 
on the bench ? I’ll tell you, sir, by robbing, and crushing 
the poor; and God in his own good time will notice it. 
Her within there, is not the first whose cabin he made 
lonely. Aye, Mr. Daly, I would put a stop to this foolish 
night-walking if I could. I’d stop it for the sake of such as 
him as lies dead within there. I’d stop it, because I know 
of old the folly of such work, and the trouble it brings, 
sooner or later, on all that take part in it. But, Mr. Daly, 
(and the old man’s cheek flushed,) if the Lord Lieutenant 
was to the fore, I’d tell him that I would not* turn on my 
heel to save the puddle blood of the tyrant and persecutor 
O’Roarke.” 

“We are told by our religion,” said Henry, “to forgive 
our enemies.” 

“ I know it, sir,” replied the old man, “ God forgive me, 
I’m an old sinner to speak as I did ; but, Mr. Henry, there’s 
bitterness in my heart since I saw Mike Donelan stretched 
afore me, and the lone mother sitting at his head.” 

“ I see policemen here, did any one send for them ?” ask- 
ed Henry. 

“No, sir; they kem from themselves, when they heard 
what had happened ; one of them is gone for the coroner. 
But is that Miss Daly, sir, coming down the boreen* ? ” 

“Yes,” said Henry, jumping up, “I forgot altogether that 
I left her waiting for me. Emily, love, come no farther ; a 
dreadful circumstance has happened!” 


♦ Lane. 


44 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I have heard it, Henry,” replied his sister, whose tears 
were fast falling. “ Could I not go in for a few moments, 
and try to speak some words of comfort to her?” 

“God alone, sister, can impart comfort to her; just now 
human consolation would sound as mockery to such grief 
as hers. But if you are not afraid to return home by your- 
felf, I would wish to remain until the coroner arrives.” 

“Oh, do so, Henry,” replied his sister; “you may be of 
some use to those poor people. Stay, and I will tell my 
father why you have remained.” 

When Henry Daly again entered the house he found that 
the widow had raised her head from the face of the dead. 
Her eyes were red and wild, but no tears flowed from them. 
He went up to her and took her hand. As he did so, he 
felt that her whole frame shivered. 

“ That’s Micky, sir,” she said, in a slow, harsh voice, that 
jarred with thrilling distinctness on the listener’s ear. 
“ Micky, my son, sir, him that’s lying there — him that 
thought so much of you, and would be saying, ever and al- 
ways, C I wonder, mother, when will Mr. Henry Daly be 
back from Dublin ; ’ and see, now, you’re on his own flure, 
and the never a welcome has he to give you.” 

Henry’s tears fell upon her hand ; she looked at him. 

“ And you’re crying too,” she said, but never a tear can 
I cry, (putting her hands to her eyes,) and sure if it wasn’t 
all a bad dream that’s over me, the mother that bore him 
would cry i#ore than any of you.” 

Henry perceived that her mind wandered. “ Madness,” 
he murmured to himself, “ would be a mercy now.” 

She heard him, though none of the others did. 

“ Yes, sir,” she said, “ madness, that’s just it, nothing but 
madness to say that Micky’s dead. I’ll tell you how it all 
come about; you see last night I thought some people kem 
here and called him out, and that he went over to the bed 
and kissed me, and told me not to be frightened and that 
he’d be back again in no time. 

“ Do you know,” said one of the policemen present, 
“ who they were that called your son out ?” 

She looked at the man fiercely. “None of your dirty 
work here,” she said, “ may be it’s an informer you’d be for 
making my son,” and she laughed hysterically. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


45 


“ Don’t presume, sir,” said Henry, “ to ask any questions 
until the arrival of the coroner.” 

“ Don’t mind him avourneen*” she said or vex yourself 
with the likes of him, hut where was I about the dream.” 
While thus speaking she had kept her eyes fixed upon 
Henry’s face with her back toward the corpse of her son. 

“ Oh yes, I thought my boy kem and kissed me in the 
bed, as he ever and always does, and says : i Don’t be 
frightened, mother, I must go with them this once, and 
they’ll never ask me any more.’ Aye, that was it, and a 
bad dream it was, out and out, was’nt it sir ? ” 

She paused, looked wistfully into Henry’s face, as if she 
expected him to corroborate her in the cheat she was evi- 
dently endeavoring to palm upon herselt, but he could not 
reply. 

After waiting a little she resumed, “well, sir, this 
morning” — 

As the last word escaped her lips, the sight that the 
morning had revealed, flashed upon her soul in all its horrid 
reality. She turned full round, gazed for one moment on 
the face of the dead, and with a wild scream fell senseless 
on the body of her son. 

They raised her up. As they did so, a gush of blood 
issued from her mouth and nose and flowing over the dead 
man’s face and chest trickled down on each side. 

Henry, unable longer to look upon this scene of horror, 
rushed from the house. 


* Dear. 




46 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN “ IRISH MIDDLEMAN.” 

On a dark and rainy evening, some days subsequent 
to the events recorded in the last chapter^ Mr. John 
O’Roarke sat in his parlor at Lake View. The place had 
received its name from the fact of there being a dirty muddy 
pond at the end of the lawn, through which daily waddled 
Mr. O’Roarke’s ducks and geese. 

All the requisites for making punch were on the table 
before him, and he seemed to have availed himself pretty 
freely of their presence, for his face wore a purple flush up 
to the very roots of his hair. 

He had a short black pipe in his mouth, but if one 
might judge from his knitted brow, and heavy eyes, it 
had failed to impart any soothing influence to him. He 
was a man about fifty years of age, of strong, bulky form, 
and coarse, vulgar features. His cold, small grey eyes had 
a cunning, cruel expression in general, but the punch 
had deadened the former, while it had increased the lat- 
ter to a murderous expression, in perfect harmony with the 
low forehead, over which his iron-grey hair hung thick and 
coarse. Had he been born in Venice, he might have been 
a midnight assassin ; in London, a house breaker. As it 
was, born in Ireland, he was a tithe proctor, an under agent 
and a middleman, * V arious, and beyond the belief of those 
unacquainted with the state of Irish society, at the time, 
were the opportunities which this man availed himself of 
to rob the peasantry in his district. In his capacity of tithe 
proctor, he seized upon the cattle for the parson’s tithes, 
made a mock sale of them to one of his bailiffs, for one 
fourth or fifth of their value, and then turned them in oh 


♦ A tenant himself, haring tenants under him. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


47 


one of his own farms, from which they were taken to some 
distant fair and re-sold, at so many hundred per cent, profit. 
As land agent, no tenant could approach him, unless armed 
with a bribe, which, very often, exceeded the yearly rent 
of the unfortunate man. As middleman, he took lands on 
which there were already tenants, and either ejected them 
from their holdings, or raised the rents, already too high, to 
rackrent prices. Half the fowls they raised were his and 
their lands should go uncultivated until they had given 
him a certain amount of labor, for which they received no 
remuneration. 

Oh ! England, let your saints weep over slavery in the 
South. Let their tears bedew their white, scented hand- 
kerchiefs, while some pious, sleek, well fed humbug, tells 
them, in Exeter Hall, of the sufferings of their black breth- 
ren ; 14 for, are they not our brothers?” exclaims the pious 
humbug ; and see what it will avail you, when the nations 
stand before the throne of God. Maudlin hypocrites, I tell 
you that the black slave lives in an earthly paradise, com- 
pared to the lot of the Irish peasant, robbed, enslaved, 
lashed to madness, by such men as O’Roarke. I tell you, 
they are more hateful than your imaginary Legrees. “ But,” 
exclaims the pious humbug, “ these are social evils, caused 
by the benighted state of the Irish themselves ; and have 
we not sent them missionaries and bibles ? ” Maudlin hypo- 
crites, you lie ! This state of society, this battle between 
the oppressor and oppressed, has been spawned and nursed 
by your English laws. Go open your statute books, and 
mark how they teem with acts protecting those merciless 
Legrees in their spoliations, without one clause to shield 
their victims. Oh ! saints, of Exeter Hall, you have been 
dumb about these things! Yerily, on that day when the 
soul will stand naked before God and man, I would sooner 
be the publican, than the pharisee. 

From these various modes of “ honest industry,” (a favor- 
ite term with Mr. John O’Koarke,) our middleman became 
rich and prosperous. He held mortgages on several estates 
in his neighborhood, Godfrey Daly’s, amongst others, to 
whom he had loaned five thousand pounds. The Lord 
Lieutenant of the county had also borrowed money from 


48 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


him, and it was on this gentleman’s recommendation that 
he was lately appointed to the commission of the peace. 

The windows of the room in which O’Roarke now sat, 
were defended on the outside by thick iron bars, and as the 
windows themselves were very narrow and the ceiling very 
low, the room had, at all times, a very gloomy appearance. 
On this particular evening, it looked like a prison cell, and 
this likeness was heightened by the strong resemblance 
Mr. O’Roarke bore to a felon. Opposite to his father sat 
Mr. Timothy O’Roarke. His chair was turned a little from 
the table, thereby giving him an opportunity to admire 
himself, in a cracked pier glass, over the chimney mantle- 
piece. 

Various were the attitudes which the younger gentleman 
had assumed within the last half hour. At one time with 
his elbow resting on the table, he laid his head upon his 
hand and looked into the glass with a thoughtful, melan- 
choly expression of face. Then he folded his arms, drew 
himself up and looked sternly at himself. Then again, he 
stretched out his legs, threw his body back, and let his hand 
fall listlessly to his side. 

“My life upon it,” exclaims some respectable old lady, 
“ that young man has something heavy resting on his mind.” 

Not a bit of it, my dear, good lady ; nothing, heavy or 
light, ever rested on Tim’s mind. Anything hung up there 
was sure to tumble down in a short time. But Tim was an 
imitative animal, and was now studying the different po- 
sitions he had seen some of his numerous models sitting 
in, — Lord Oranmore, amongst others. At length he flung 
his arm carelessly over the back of his chair, let his body 
and head slightly recline to one side, and yawned several 
times. “Yes,” he said aloud, “that’s by far the best and 
most aristocratic. That will do.” 

“What will do? What are you prating about?” said his 
father, starting from a reverie that seemed far from having 
been a pleasant one. 

“ ’Pon honor, dad — ahem — beg pardon, guvner — ’pon hon- 
or, you quite frightened me, you spoke so loud and sudden- 
ly,” replied Tim. 

“ Curse your ’pon honor, and your airs,” was the parental 


TIIE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


49 


rejoinder. “I tell you what, Timmy, this is a d n bad, 

ugly business.” 

“What’s a bad business, guvner?” asked Tim. 

“Why, this Donelan’s death, to be sure, you numskull,” 
replied his father. 

“ Oh, yes ; I had quite forgotten it, ’pon honor,” said Tim. 

“His father gave him a look of anger and contempt. 
“ Quite forgotten it,” he replied, “ you shallow-pated ass ; 
I tell you what, my fine fellow, take care that you do not 
get cause one of these days, or nights, to remember it bet- 
ter. I suppose you forget, too, that two of my best heifers 
were hamstrung the night before last, and a threatening no- 
tice put upon the gate with the figure of a coffin marked 
upon it. I have written to the Lord Lieutenant asking 
for the protection of the police ; I will build a barrack for 
them within a stone’s throw of the house.” 

“ Oh, I do wish,” said Tim, “ he would send a troop of 
dragoons down here, the society of the officers would be 
so delightful.” 

“Now may God help me,” exclaimed his father, “ this is 
what comes of making a gentleman of my son. For this I 
have rob— ahem, I have toiled night and day at my honest 
industry, drawing down hatred and illwill upon myself, un- 
til the very dogs are taught to bark at me as I pass. But 

by i’ll return them hate for hate, and we’ll see who 

will tire of the game first. Hand me over that decanter, 
sir, unless you think it beneath you to stretch your hand 
for such a plain man as myself.” 

The suppressed passion of the father somewhat awed the 
son. 

“ I did not intend to vex you, sir,” said the latter, as he 
pushed the decanter over. 

“ Well, I suppose you didn’t” replied O’Koarke. “ But 
let us understand one another, Tim. You may, if you like, 
put on those fine airs when you get among the young bloods 
of the country, though I’m thinking they don’t fit on you 
very natural or easy ; howsomever, that’s your own lookout, 
and I’m a bad judge of such matters. But don’t give me 
any of them ; I had none of them myself when I was your 


50 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


age, and I’m too old to learn or like them now. What’s 
that?” 

•‘Nothing but the rain beating against the window,” re- 
plied his son. 

“ It’s a blasted night,” said O’Roarke ; “ stir up the fire, 
will you.” 

“Were you not at Dalystown to-day, sir,” asked Tim, as 
he put down some fresh turf on the fire. 

u I was ; I wanted to see Daly about the meeting the 
magistrates are going to hold, on account of this late busi- 
ness. I hope they’ll memorial the government to proclaim 
the county.” 

“ Did you see Mr. Daly, sir ?” 

“ I did ; and coldly enough he received me. I knew well 
what was working in his heart, though he dursn’t let it out, 
for I have my hand upon his throat and his red fingers 
crookened to the shape of a vulture’s claws, as if he actually 
was choking the poor gentleman in imagination. 

“ The time for paying the mortgage,” he continued, “ w T ill 
be round in a few months. If he pays the interest regular 
I’d as lief leave the money out. Your uncle Lyons wrote to 
me that young Daly thought to raise the money in Dublin, 
to pay me off; but Lyons got to speak to the party lending 
it, and told some story that made them draw back. I don’t 
want that he should be able to pay me that way, with a 
high hand.” 

“Did you see any others of the family?” asked Tim. 

“Young Daly come to the door, while I was speaking to 
his father,” replied O’Roarke, “ but turned on his heel when 
he saw me. They’re a proud set, egg and bird.” 

“You did not see Miss Daly?” asked Tim. 

“ No, I didn’t,” replied his father, looking at him ; “what 
are you driving at avick; may be it’s your comehitlier 
you’d be for putting on her?” 

“She’s a deuced pretty girl, guvner,” replied Tim, pulling 
up his shirt collar. 

“ Aye,” replied his father, “ and if you tell her so I’m 
thinking she’ll tell you you have mistaken her for the house 
maid.” 

It was now Tim’s turn to be angry. “ This is the way 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


51 


you always speak,” he said; “what’s the use of all your 
money if it can’t get you any respect?” 

“ And doesn’t it,” replied O’Roarke ; “ doesn’t' it make 
them bow and take me by the hand, that think it would 
be too good for me to clean their shoes ; doesn’t it give me 
power to crush them I hate ? But there are some things 
avick, that money can’t do. It can not get you the true- 
hearted respect and good will of people ; but who cares for 
that? And it can’t lower the pride of such people as the 
Dalys ; you may break them, but you can’t bend them. No r 
no, Timmy, Daly would sooner see himself a beggar, and 
his daughter laid in a coffin, than married to you.” 

• Both father and son now remained silent for some time. 
Tim was too crestfallen and sulky to make any reply, and 
the turn the conversation had taken, threw O’Roarke into 
another reverie. At length he said, seemingly more to him- 
self, than to his son. 

“ After all, people will do much to save themselves from 
ruin. A drowning man will ketch at a straw ; and if the 
thing could be brought about, it would answer well. It. 
wouldn’t be the first time, either, that good money bought 
good blood.” 

“That’s just what I think, dad,” said Tim, brightening up, 
“ and I don’t see why the young lady should have any ob- 
jections to my personal appearance,” (a look at the cracked 
glass, another pull at the shirt collar, and Tim was himself 
again,) “so if you put the screw on the old boy,” 

“Well, well,” said his father, interrupting him, “we’ll 
talk of this some other time, when we have less to trouble 
us. Go and see that the dogs are let loose, and that the 
windows and doors are shut and bolted, before it gets dark.” 

Tim wisely forbore pressing the matter just then, and his 
good humor being perfectly restored, he#rose promptly to 
obey his father. As he reached the door, he turned round, 
and taking advantage of the parental back being turned to 
him, he bowed low, waved his hand in a theatrical manner, 
and in alow voice he said, “Gentlemen, I leave you to your 
wine, and, with your permission, will retire to the ladies.” 

When he left the room, O’Roarke drank off the punch 
that remained in his tumbler, pushed the latter from him, 


52 


tfHE DALYS 0£ DALYS’fOWN‘« 


and drawing his chair closer to the fire, began to think. 
What the thoughts of this bad man Were, is known only to 
God. Did he think of his young days, ere avarice had quite 
corrupted and hardened his heart ? Did he think of the 
only being that ever loved him, his poor suffering wife, dead 
many a year ? And did his conscience tell him that it was 
his unjust and cruel treatment of the poor, which she wit- 
nessed, without the power of redressing, that sent her to 
the grave. Did he think of that mother whom death itself 
could not separate from her child? Yes, whatever else he 
may have thought of, in that long reverie, Which lasted un- 
til evening had given place to night, and no objects in the 
room were visible, except those which the light of the fire 
fell upon. He had thought of her, for he now muttered to 
himself, u It was cursed unlucky surely, I would rather twen- 
ty of the other ruffians were shot than this young Donelan, 
he was so d — d well liked. They say, too, that he was forced 
to come here, by the others. Well, how was I to know 
that or him? When a man’s house is attacked, has he not 
a right to defend himself? The death of his mother, too — 
well, how could I help that? Was I to blame ? No man or 
woman can say I was, with any show of truth. But that 
won’t prevent people from laying both their deaths at my 
door, and cursing me as their murderer. D — n them, who 
cares for their curses, didn’t I thrive on them all my life? 
It’s their blasted revenge that I have to dread, and to guard 
against, and a good way I’m doing- it, sitting here, in the 
dark, without as much as a shutter closed.” 

He rang the bell and a slattern girl made her appearance, 
rubbing her eyes, as if she had just been disturbed from 
sleep. 

“ Get a candle here,” said her master. “ Yes sir,” she re- 
plied, tumblimg qut of the room and presently returning 
with a lighted candle. 

“Where’s Mr. Tim?” asked O’Eoarke. 

“Tn the kitchen, sur, smoking,” she replied. 

“ Leave them shutters alone, . I’ll close them myself,” said 
O’Roarke. “ Be off and go to your bed.” 

When the girl left the room, O’Roarke got up, and closed 
the shutters of the windows, and secured them with strong 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


53 


iron bolts. He then went to the hall door, to assure him- 
self that its fastenings of bolt and lock were well secured, 
then to the passage leading to the kitchen, and called out. 

“ Are you there, Tim ? ” 

“ Yes, dad,” replied Tim. 

“ Is the kitchen door bolted and the dogs out ? ” 

“ All right, Guvner,” answered Tim. 

With a heavy step, O’Koarke ascended to his bed room. 
He paused on the landing, “Well,” he muttered, “it’s 
strange, but I often envied Widow Donelan that fine son 
of lier’s, and would willingly have given half what I’m 
worth, that Tim was like him. Poor Mary, too, used to 
stop on th6 road, long ago, and kiss him and say, while she 
raised the curls from his forehead, “ Well, John, aint he a 
fine little fellow ? God grant, my little man, that you’ll be 
a comfort and good help to your mother that owns you.” 
Aye, there was Mary, she had every one’s blessing, and 
what good did it do her ? Did it keep death from her ? D — n 
their blessings and their curses, one is as good as the other.” 
So saying, he entered his sleeping room, closed the door 
with a loud bang and bolted it on the inside. 

On the same evening a very different party had met to- 
gether in the old family parlor at Dalystown. It was a 
lofty room, with large bay windows. The furniture was of 
the old massive style — the only modern article being a very 
handsome piano, at which Miss Daly sat. She had been 
playing, and was now engaged in carelessly turning over 
the leaves of her music book. Mr. Daly and Henry sat be- 
fore the cheerful peat fire which burned in the large, hos- 
pitable grate. On the hearth rug lay an old setter dog, 
who claimed the privilege, in consideration of his age and 
past services. 

“Well, Carlo,” said Mr. Daly, “are you tired, old dog, 
after your day’s work?” Carlo struck his fine feathered tail 
upon the rug, in recognition of his master’s voice. 

“ Ah, I believe you are,” continued Mr. Daly. “ Do you 
know, Henry, I sometimes think that he gets jealous of the 
superior going of the younger dogs ; for after fruitless at- 
tempts to keep up with them, he sometimes gives up alto- 
gether, and with drooping tail, follows at my heels. Well, 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


54 

old fellow, I saw the day when your style of going would 
have put those young puppies to the blush.” 

The dog acknowledged the compliment by a prolonged 
wagging of his tail. 

u I assure you,” continued Mr. Daly, “ he is in the great- 
est joy any day I bring him out alone. He will frisk about 
the high bank before entering the bog, giving me, at the 
same time, very approving looks, which I interpret as say- 
ing: 4 What do you think of that, old master ? Don’t you 
see we can get on very well together, :&id that you were 
quite right in leaving those young dogs at home, who are 
too giddy for either of us ? ” ’ 

Henry laughed, and the old dog, perceiving by the looks 
directed towards him that he was the subject of considera- 
tion, rose slowly to his feet and laid his head on Mr. Daly’s 
knee. 

“ Poor 'old fellow,” said Mr. Daly, patting him. “ Emily, 
love, I waht to hear you sing. I have not heard a song, I 
think, since Henry returned.” 

“ What shall it be, papa ?” asked his daughter. 

“ I will leave the selection to yourself, love,” replied her 
father. 

“Henry, will you join me?” said Miss Daly. 

“ Yes,” he replied ; “ have you tried any of those I brought 
to you ?” 

“I but looked over them,” she answered; “there is one 
which I like ; I will try and sing it : ” 


The Soul’s Yearning. 

“ Ah ! ask me not to sing to-night, 
Beneath this star-lit sky, 

My song for thee should he as light 
As the love beam in thine eye ; 
How, my spirit is all weary, 

Although, love, thou art so near, 
And if I touch my harp, Kathleen, 
’Twill but sadden thee, I fear. 

Weary as the bird, whose wing 
Dips in the treacherous wave, 
Poor songstress, never more to sing— 
Pemed thy leafy grove i 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


55 


Weary as the timid hare, 

Who from her covert flies, 

Pursued by hound, returns her there, 

And bleeding, panting, dies. 

Not that to me earth’s beauties 
Have paled upon my sight, 

Not that woman’s bright eyes . 

Have veiled from me their light ; 

Not that youth’s companions 
Have passed me in life’s race, 

Not that 1 have trusted, 

To find that all were base. 

There’s not a tiny flower, 

But glad’s my heart to see, 

Love lies within my bower, 

For art thou not by me ? 

The well won fame of others 
Has been to me a joy, 

And the friends are still beside me, 

Whom I trusted when a boy. 

Yet, as now, when stars are shining, 

And the moon shows her silvery crest, 

There comes a strange, sad pining, 

To be near tli&n, and at rest ; 

Until my soul grows weary 
Of life’s slow-ebbing sand, 

And I sigh for the fadeless flowers 
That grow in the spirit land.” 

“ Very good,” said Mr. Daly, when the song ceased. u I 
believe I must let you off, Emily, with that one song, to- 
night, for we must go to bed betimes, as Henry will have 
to be up early to-morrow, and you must not leave him to 
the mercy of sleepy servants.” 

“ Oh, upon tny word,” said Emily, “ I had quite forgotten 
that Henry goes to Galway to-morrow; you will return the 
day after, will you not, Henry ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. 

“ I think it much better, ” said Mr. Daly, “that you travel 
in your own gig, than by coach, as you will then be your 
own master, to leave any time your business is done.” 

“ I believe, sir, said Henry, “ I have your instructions in 
full, as to what I am to propose to this Lyons ? ” 

“ I think you have,” replied Mr. Daly, “ you are to get 


56 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


him, if possible, to renew those bills of mine, which he has 
contrived to get into his hands. I have not receivedhalf 
my rents this year, and, unless those bills are renewed, I 
must fail in meeting them. Of course you will have to pay 
Lyons a high discount. Heigho! I am anxious that you 
should see him as soon as possible. You know there is to 
be a meeting, next week, of the magistrates and gentry of 
the county, on account of this unfortunate attack on 
O’Roarke’s house, in which poor Donelan lost his life, and 
I wish you to attend for me.” 

“ Why not go yourself, father ? ” asked Henry. 

“ 1 am getting old, Henry,” replied his father, “ and, just 
now, don’t find myself in spirits. I would go, indeed, if I 
thought I could do any good, but I know pretty well how 
matters will be carried on, and, though I wish you to be 
present, it is not from any hope that good will result from 
this meeting. I suppose you will call upon some of your 
friends in Galway ? ” 

“ Only on the O’Kellys,” replied Henry, “ Emily tells 
me that they have taken a lodge, at Salt Hill, * for the 
season.” 

“ So they have,” replied Mr. Daly, “ you will spend a 
pleasant evening with Anthony and his brothers, but I fear 
you will find it a hard matter to get away. Most assuredly, 
they will be for making you stgp three or four days with 
them.” 

“ I will have a fight for it,” said Henry. 

“ In the mean time,” replied his father, “ I advise you 
to get a good night’s rest, I believe there are none of 
the O’Kelly family at the sea, but the young fellows, and I 
am told people do not sleep very well where Anthony is 
head of the house.” 

u No,” replied Henry, laughing, “Anthony, like a royal 
crown, is a foe to sleep.” 


* A fashionable watering place, outside the town of Galway. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


57 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH HENRY DALY, AND SOME FRIENDS OF HIS, MEET WITH A 
LITTLE ADVENTUBE — AN ATTORNEY’S OFFICE, AND A SLIGHT 
GLANCE AT THE HAPPY ARRANGEMENTS OF MR. LYONS’ DO- 
MESTIC CIRCLE. 

On the following morning, Henry set out for the town 
of Galway, and arrived there about five o’clock in the af- 
ternoon. Thinking it too late, then, to call upon Mr. Bart ley 
Lyons, he proceeded to the O’Kelly’s lodge, outside the 
town. His road lay mostly along the sea shore, command- 
ing a fine view of the bay of Galway, while, in the distance, 
was seen the coast of Clare, with its bold and fertile moun- 
tains rising from the sea; a fitting home for the bold peas- 
antry that then peopled it. As Henry was making some 
inquiries for the whereabouts of his friends’ lodge, he was 
hailed from an open window, at which three young gentle- 
men had been sitting, and, by the time he had reached the 
lodge gate, they were there to receive him. Fine young 
fellows they were, with fair hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders 
and athletic limbs, an abundance of animal spirits, dev- 
ilment and goodness of heart. 

Brave, generous and free, — they were the idols of the 
peasantry, in their neighborhood, and many a petty tyrant 
was restrained from oppressing the poor, by the dread which 
their names inspired. 

The moldenng walls of upwards of thirty castles, in Gal- 
way, Roscommon and Mayo, are silent witnesses to the for- 
mer extensive possessions of the noble family to which 
they belonged ; while the beautiful ruins of Kilconnel Ab- 
bey, ere.cted and endowed by one of their ancestors, still 


58 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


gives to his descendants their last resting place, in its ivy- 
fretted aisle. 

“ Well, Henry, I am very glad to see you,” exclaimed 
Anthony O’Kelly, the eldest of the three, as they entered 
the lodge together. “I hope your father and Miss Daly are 
well.” 

“ Quite well, thank you, Anthony,” replied Henry. 
“Have you set up bachelor’s hall here, or do you expect 
your father and mother to join you ?” “No,” replied An- 

thony. “They will not come to the sea this year, but both 
Pat and Michael injured themselves with too hard study ; 
and my mother wished that they should have the benefit of* 
sea bathing, so knowing me to be a steady character, I was 
sent in charge of them.” 

“ A most judicious selection, truly,” said Henry. “How 
many scrapes, boys, did he get you into, since your arrival 
here ? ” 

“ Not, many,” replied the second brother, Pat., “ he made 
Michael horsewhip an English officer, for upsetting an old 
woman’s apple stand.” 

“ You should have added,” remarked Michael, “ not be- 
fore the fellow refused to pay the old woman for her ap- 
ples and fright and had given her some impertinence. I 
also found out, Henry, that the fellow did it for a bet,” 

“Well, what was the result?” asked Henry. 

“ Oh, the gallant hero sold out and returned to England,” 
replied Anthony, “ but here comes the dinner. I hope, Hen- 
ry, your drive has given you a good appetite for it.” 

As he spoke, an old grey headed servant entered the room 
with dinner. 

“Your honor’s welcome, Mr, Daly,” he said. “ How are all 
the family, sir ? ” 

“ Quite well, John, thank you,” replied Henry, “I did 
not expect to see you here John, as your old master re- 
mained at home.” 

“ He sent me, sir, to mind the young gentlemen,” replied 
the servant. 

“ Why,” said Henry, laughing, “ you all seem to have been 
sent to mind one another. Here is Mr. Anthony, who says 
that he came to mind Mr. Pat and Mr. Michael.” 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


59 


^Oh, murder ! and he the worst of all,” exclaimed John, 
raising up his hands, “sure, it’s as quiet as lambs they’d be, 
but for him.” 

“ Silence, you old defamer,” said his young master. “ Hen- 
ry shall I help you ? ” 

“Thank you. I suppose, John, you find it very hard to 
mind them.” 

“ By dad, Mr. Henry, I often think that my mother, rest 
her soul, had an insight into what I’d be doing, when she 
was dead and gone, and thought to prepare me for it.” 

“ How was that John,” asked Henry. 

“ You see sir,” John replied, “she was mighty fond of set- 
ting wild ducks’ eggs, that I used to bring out from the bog; 
and when the birds would come out, she’d be saying, 4 Jack, 
mind the birds.’ It was easy enough to do it, when they 
were small, but when they got anyways big, my hand to 
yqu, they were off to the bogs, and wild as you please. 
IPs much the same with Mr. Anthony, here. When 
he was little he’d mind what old J ohn would say to him ; 
but now, devil a wild duck ever flew over the bog of Crith 
could hold a candle to him.” And the old fellow laughed, 
as T he gave his young master a proud, affectionate look. 

“And what lucky wind has blown you here, Henry?” 
asked Anthony. “ I hope it was good nature that induced 
you to come and visit us, babes on the rocks.” 

“I can’t say it was,” replied Henry. 

“ Come to take a lodge ?” inquired Pat. 

“To see old ladies eat shrimps, and cheat at loo?” re- 
marked Michael. 

“ While the younger ones bathe in the morning for the 
good of their health, go to church in the forenoon for the 
good of their souls, and waltz all night for the good of their 
doctors,” said Anthony. 

“None of those inducements have brought me here,” re- 
plied Henry. “In fact, I must return home to-morrow.” 

Anthony gave a low whistle. “You’ll see to that, Mi- 
chael,” he remarked to his brother. The latter nodded. 

Henry was well aware what this meant. “ Michael,” he 
said, “before you take the trouble of having my horse and 
gig conveyed to parts unknown, I promise, on my honor, 


60 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


not to leave to-morrow, unless Anthony himself permits me 
to do so. Is that fair ?” 

“ Oh, perfectly ; agreed — agreed,” exclaimed the brothers. 

“.In fact,” continued Henry, “my business here is neither 
for pleasure or health ; but to try and arrange some money 
matters with an attorney in Galway.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Anthony ; “ what do you say to coax- 
ing him out here, and holding him under water until he 
came to terms ? 

“ Or picking a quarrel with him, and shooting him,” re- 
marked Pat. 

“I fear” said Henry laughing, “I must try more legal 
and peaceful means with my man.” 

“ What’s his name ? ” asked Anthony. 

“ Lyons, ” replied Henry. 

“ What, Bartly Lyons ?” exclaimed Anthony. “ Oh he’s 
too low, I fear, even . to hold under water. Poor old Lord 
Mount Garrett always shot his way through a law suit. 
W hat do you say to a walk, Henry ? ” 

“ By all means,” replied his friend, “ I am much obliged to 
you for proposing it.” 

“ Oh I know of old, you’re no hand at the bottle. So fin- 
ish off what you have in your glass, and we’ll take a sniff of 
the sea.” 

When Henry and his friends left the house they entered 
upon a road which ran for some distance parallel with the 
sea shore and as the evening was fine they met several 
carriages, whose fair occupants had come out to enjoy the 
refreshing air. It was crowded too, with the peasantry 
coming from the Galway market. 

The men in this part of the island are amphibious ani- 
mals, half of their time being spent on the sea and the 
other half in agricultural pursuits. So their appearance 
smacks both of sea and land. The dress of the women is ex- 
ceedingly picturesque. A red flannel jacket, fitting closely 
to the body, sets off the erect and flexible carriage which 
the habit of carrying light burdens on their heads has giv- 
en them, (will some of our drooping belles try this ?) A 
skirt of stuff or cotton, open in front, discloses a blue pet- 
ticoat. On holidays, a blue cloth cloak and a silk handker- 


THE DALYS 0E DALYSTOWN. 


61 


chief (worn on the head,) of many colors, complete this 
costume. They are a very handsome race, with regular 
oval features, large dark eyes, (mayhap somewhat brown 
with exposure to the weather,) red lips, and teeth of pearly 
whiteness. Ah ! my modest, bright eyed blooming Galway 
girl, years have gone by since I looked upon your sunny 
face, and many a lovely lady have I seen since then, yet 
never met I one so beautiful as you. 

Anthony O’Kelly seemed to know every one, from the 
lady in her carriage to the young girl with her fish basket 
on her head. From the gentleman on horseback, with his 
neatly appointed groom following after, to the countryman 
driving his flat car. As he walked along he kept up a con- 
tinual fire of small talk with those passing: 

“ How do you do Miss Blake ? lovely evening.” “ Ah 
Biddy, is that you ? what would I give for one kiss from 
those cherry lips.” “ Anything new, Bodkin ; is that the 
young horse you were speaking of? lie should be a fencer, 
he has his legs well under him.” “Well, Pat, how’s the 
boat, and the wife and children ? ” 

Half an hour’s walking brought our party to where the 
road diverged from the sea, and leaving it, they crossed 
over a stile and continued their walk by the shore. Find- 
ing themselves now quite alone they conversed with all the 
familiarity of intimate friends, nor did they perceive the 
time passing until they reached Barna Point, a high cliff 
jutting over the sea. 

As they came upon the table land they saw before them 
a young girl. She was kneeling on the very edge of the cliff, 
wringing her hands and seeming wild with terror. She was 
dressed in the usual red jacket and blue petticoat, her feet 
were bare and her auburn hair pushed back from her tem- 
ples fell in rich profusion over her shoulders. With extend- 
ed neck, and straining eyes., she watched the movements 
of a small boat making for the shore, about a mile farther 
up. Now and then she turned her eyes inland towards the 
Galway road, and each time that she did so, she wrung her 
hands and wept aloud. 

“What can be the matter,” said Henry Daly, about to 
rush forward. But Michael O’Kelly caught his arm, “ Stay” 


62 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


said the latter, “ if you frighten her she will fall over the 
cliff.” The young girl turned around and shading her eyes 
with her hand scrutinized them for a moment, in the next 
she was running towards them, exclaiming, “ Oh gentlemen 
save my father.” 

“ How, where is he, girl ? ” asked Anthony O’Kelly. 

“ Oh sir, in that boat you see coming in there. He’s 
bringing potheen* from the Island of Arran, and look, 
there’s the gauger’s car coming along the road, I know his 
white horse, some one has informed against him, and he’ll 
be ketched just as he’s landing.” 

The four gentlemen looked in the direction she pointed 
to, and saw an outside car, (on which sat five men) coming 
along the road at a furious pace. Anthony O’Kelly com- 
prehended at a glance liow matters stood. 

“ By all that’s lovely, my pretty girl,” he said, “and that’s 
yourself, we’ll balk the rascals for you, run on you, meet 
your father, and warn him ; leave the rest to us to manage. 
“ Come boys, let us make for the road, and head the fel- 
lows,” So saying he started off at full speed, followed by 
his brothers and Henry. Crossing two or three fields and 
jumping over as many walls, they found themselves on the 
high road, the car not more than a hundred yards distant 
from them. 

“Now boys, keep the middle of the road, and do not leave 
it until these fellows are nearly over us,” said Anthony. 

“ Hillo, hillo,” shouted the driver of the car, as he beat 
his horse with a heavy whip. “ Out of the way there. Do 
you want to get driven over ? ” 

Anthony who was in the middle of the little party, jump- 
ed to one side, just as the horse nearly touched his chest. 

“Ha” said the driver, with a grin. “I thought you’d 
leave that.” 

“ And I think, you’ll leave that,” replied O’Kelly, striking 
him at the same time on the side of the head with a stick. 

The man tumbled out of his seat, and fell heavily to the 
ground; at the same time the horse shied and drew the car 
over a large stone, spilling the remaining four men out 
upon the road. Finding himself thus rid of his burden, the 


* Illicit spirits. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


63 


horse ran away, amusing himself, as he did so, by kicking 
the car to pieces. 

The men did not seem to have been much injured by this 
upset, for they were quickly on their legs, and one of them, 
a large man, with a blotched, red face and wearing a seedy 
black coat, tightly buttoned, advanced to Anthony, and 
demanded “how he dared to interfere with a King’s officer, 
on the King’s high road.” 

“ A King’s officer,” said O’Kelly, in a contemptuous tone. 

“ Yes sir, a revenue officer,” replied the man. 

“ Oh ! a gauger,” said Anthony. 

“ Yes sir, a gauger,” answered the other, and by , you 

will pay for this. But I have not time now to deal with you. 
Let us run on men, and we’ll be in time to nab them yet. 

But Anthony placed himself, right before him on the 
road. “ How dare you, sir,” said the former, “ attempt to leave 
without first apologizing for your conduct ?” 

“ Apologize,” exclaimed the gauger. 

“ Yes sir,” replied Anthony. “ Did you take us for kegs 
of potheen whiskey, that you attempted to split us open 
with your car?” 

“ Oh by ” exclaimed the other, now foaming with rage, 

“ I’ll soon make you leave the way,” and, advancing, he 
struck at Anthony with a large stick, but the latter caught 
the stick in his left hand, and drawing the gauger into him 
dealt him a blow with his right, between the eyes, which 
stretched him on the road. 

The driver, who had by this time recovered his senses and 
his legs, now came forward to the assistance of his friends 
and a general row took place. 

But the officer and his men were no match for those op- 
posed to them. They were knocked down as fast as they 
got up, and at length, when a well planted blow from 
Michael O’Kelly left the gauger bleeding and senseless on 
the ground, his assistants fell upon their knees and sued for 
quarter, which was magnanimously granted by the vic- 
tors. 

The gauger was taken up, carried to the side of the road 
and placed in a sitting position, with his back against the 
wall. Cold water was thrown plentifully in his face, and in 
a short time he showed signs of returning consciousness. 


64 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ He’ll do now,” said Anthony, “ but I advise you, my 
friends, when he comes to, not to allow him to excite him- 
self. He seems a zealous creature, but when taking the 
air, drives too violently for the safety of his precious health. 
Your horse, I fear, is by this time browsing on the banks of 
Lough Corrib, but a gentle walk home will do our friend 
good. Tell him not to forget me. Good evening. Come, 
Henry. I want to show you the sun setting from the point 
I was speaking of. By George I had no notion that we 
would have so pleasant a little set to. And our four gen- 
tlemen retraced their steps to the cliff, from which they 
had run to intercept the gauger. 

While Anthony was speaking, the men had kept scowl- 
ing at him, but remained silent, and as soon as he and his 
party passed out of hearing one of the fellows who was 
busy bandaging his broken head, exclaimed, as he looked 
after them, 

“ Wethen,may the divil fly away with you, what a quare 
notion of pleasure you have, to be sure. Who is he at all, 
at all, Tom ? ” 

Tom, who w T as endeavoring to stanch the blood that was 
freely flowing from one of his temples, replied. “I’m think- 
ing it must be that devil, Mr. Anthony O’Kelly, for I’m 
told he’s come again this year to Han Hoolan’s lodge.” 

When the four gentlemen arrived at the cliff, they look- 
ed in the direction the boat was last seen in. She was no- 
where visible, but on a knoll just at the point she had been 
steering for, a group of fishermen were collected. 

Pat O Kelly took a white handkerchief from his pocket, 
and held it up ; a loud cheer answered the signal, 

“ All right, ” said Anthony, “ our little friend made good 
use of her legs. And now, Henry, where shall we spend 
the rest of the evening. What say you to a supper at Mol- 
ly Carney’s ?” 

“No, no, Anthony,” replied his friend, “I know how those 
suppers end, and 1 really have business to transact, which 
could not be well done inside the walls of a prison.” 

“ Pooh” replied Anthony. “ You are as great a croaker 
as old John. But as you will; so let us return home. 
Nothing, indeed, I am so fitted for, as a domestic life. By 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN- 


65 


George, I have a great mind to marry that little beauty, 
and turn smuggler on a respectable scale.” 

Henry pleaded his cause so well, that evening, with his 
friends, that they consented to allow him to return home 
the following day, and, as they now sat at an early breakfast, 
John announced that a man wished to speak with the 
gentlemen. 

“ Who is he, John, and what does he want?” asked An- 
thony. 

“Oh, he!s one of them fishermen” replied John, “And 
he’s come to thank you for killing the gauger for him.” 

And the old servant shook his head ominously. 

Now I regret to be obliged to state, that John was acting 
a little of the hypocrite ; for five minutes before entering the 
room, he had been chuckling with delight at the recital of 
“ his young gentlemen’s” exploits the previous evening. 

“ Oh let him come in by all means,” said O’Kelly. 

Presently, there was ushered into the room a man, ac- 
companied by our little heroine of the previous evening. 
She was now neatly dressed ; a blue cloak, with its hood, 
hung loosely on her shoulders ; her hair, twisted in many 
folds, was gathered up at the back, and on her feet were 
grey stockings and well polished shoes. As she came in, 
she nudged the man’s arm and said, pointing at the same 
time to Anthony, “ That’s him, father, that’s the gentleman 
who brought the others to stop the gauger.” 

“Hallo, my little smuggler,” exclaimed Anthony, “how 
are you?” 

« Thank your honor,” she replied, dropping a courtesy, 
“ I’m very well.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said the man, advancing a few steps into 
the room, “ I’m come to thank you Jor the good turn you 
did me last night. But for you, I would be now in Galway 
jail, and me and mine are ever bound to pray for you. Sor- 
ry I am that we can do no more.” 

“ As for that, my good man,” replied Anthony, “I would 
sooner have the prayers of your little daughter there, than 
the Bishop of London’s.” 

“ Her’s and her mother’s, sir, you will always have. She 
wouldn’t be easy until I brought her witli me, to thank the 

5 


66 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWK 


brave gentlemen who saved her father. Well, agra, * there 
they are.” 

On this, the child, for she was little more, stepped for- 
ward, took Anthony O’Kelly’s hand and raising it to her lips, 
kissed it. As she did so, a tear of gratitude iell upon it. 
She then went round the table, paying a like tribute of 
thanks to each of the other gentlemen, after which she 
returned to her father’s side. 

It was asserted afterward, both by his brothers and Henry 
Daly, that something, very like tears glistened in Anthony’s 
eyes, when the little girl kissed his hand. This he stoutly 
denied, which they as strongly maintained, alleging, not 
without some show of truth, that by no possibility could 
they have thought of inventing so absurd a story. 

John now entered with two jars, and, looking very know- 
ingly at Anthony, asked if they were to be put in the gar- 
den. 

“ Of course,” replied his master, “ if it is potheen you 
have in them. Where did you get it.” 

“ Oh, then,” said the man, “ why did you bother his honor 
about it. It’s a little drop, Mary, here, sir, brought to you, 
if your honor will be good enough to take it from her.” 

“ To be sure I will,” replied O’Kelly, “for I know Mary 
has brought me the best. But, in return, she must take the 
price of a ribbon.” 

“Not a penny, sir,” said the man, reddening, “ we made 
bold, thinking that you would not be too proud to take a 
little present from the likes of us.” 

“ Oh, don’t say another word about it,” replied O’Kelly, 
“ I am very much obliged to Mary for her present, but I 
can’t see why she should not take one from me.” 

“ There’s a wide differ, sir,” replied the man, “ between 
potheen and money.” 

“ So there is,” said Anthony, “ the latter deadens our spir- 
itualism, clogs the intellect and gives restless nights ; where- 
as, potheen feathers, at the shortest notice, the imagination, 
and makes one sleep like a top.” 

Anthony’s eulogy on potheen whiskey, caused a laugh, 
in which the young girl and her father joined, not the less 


Darling. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


67 


heartily, because they did not understand it. How many 
lecturers have been applauded because they were not un- 
derstood. 

44 Well, gentlemen, said the man, 44 I’ll be wishing you a 
good morning. The next still we’ll run, Mary will bring 
you a drop of the best.” 

u Stay a moment,” said Anthony, 44 what is your name ? ” 

44 Murphy, your honor, Pat Murphy.” 

“Well Murphy, said O’Kelly, 44 I think Mary much too 
young and pretty to be calling upon gentlemen, and if you 
take my advice, you will employ some older person to dis- 
pose of your potheen among your customers.” 

44 So I do, sir, she never sold a drop in her life, but I’d 
trust her in the desert with your honor, nor fear any harm 
would come of it.” 

44 I’m much obliged to you, Murphy, for your good opinion 
of me ; I wish you could impress some of it on John, there r 
and now go with him, and he will give you and Marya cu p 
of tea. John, after you take breakfast, bring around Mr. 
Daly’s gig. I am sorry to say, he is obliged to leave us to- 
day. And, as you have to go, Henry, it is as well that you 
should get to Galway in time to transact your business. 
Of course, Murphy, you and your friends will keep silent, 
as to the part we took in your little affair, last evening. If 
the gauger makes any work about it, his furious driving 
will quite justify us in what we did. We were not to know 
that we were interfering 4 with his majesty’s officer, or his- 
majesty’s highroad V ” And Anthony laughed, as he thought 
of the gauger’s pompous address, and the sorry figure he cut, 
a few moments afterward. 

44 Oh, never fear, sir,” replied Murphy, 44 but he’ll get a 
hint afore he’s much older, that if he wants his bones safe, 
he’ll have nothing to say to your honors.” 

Murphy and his daughter now left the room, followed by 
old John, whose countenance had worn, for some time 
back, a very thoughtful expression. 44 Glory be to God,” 
he muttered, as he walked along, 44 but there’s a great 
change, entirely, come over him. Faith he discoorsed the 
father like a young priest, never as much as asked a lus$ 
from the colleen * — lets Mr. Henry Daly go away with his 


Yonng girl. 


G8 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


free will and consent, and spoke about attending to busi- 
ness. I’m glad, anyhow, he licked the gauger, or I'd be 
thinking it was a change before death he was getting.” 

In half an hour afterward, Henry’s gig was at the lodge 
gate, and after getting a promise from Anthony, that he 
would go to Dalystown the evening before the intended 
meeting and accompany Henry to it, the latter wished his 
friends good bye, and set off for the town of Galway. 
When he arrived there he put up his horse and gig at one 
of the hotels, and proceeded, on foot, to the residence of 
Mr. Bartly Lyons. On knocking at the door, it was opened 
by an untidy girl, whose red arms were covered with soap 
suds, which she wiped off with a dirty apron. 

Some one has said, “ that you can judge a man by his 
servants.” Certainly the specimen that now confronted 
Henry, did not go to prove that refined taste was a leading 
feature in the arrangements of Mr. Lyons’ establishment. 

“Is Mr. Lyons at home? ” demanded Henry. 

“Missus,” roared the girl, “is Master widdin ? ” “No, 
he’s not,” screamed a shrill voice, from under ground. 

“ Iler voice was ever soft, gentle, and low, 

An excellent thing in woman.” 

v So says Shakspeare ; but from the tones that reached 
Henry, it was evident, that in selecting a partner for life, 
Mr. Lyons had overlooked or disregarded such a trifle. 

“ Do you know if he will be soon in ? ” asked Llenry of 
the girl, whom he judged was to act as a kind of medium 
between himself and the emboweled missus 

“ Will he be soon in mum ? ” roared the medium. 

“How do I know?” screamed the voice; “have I a 
string to his toe ?” Come down here and mind your wash- 
ing. Who wants him ? ” 

“It’s a gentleman, mum,” said the girl, running to the 
head of the stairs, and letting her voice fall into the tomb. 

“ Oh,” said the voice, and then Henry heard a step as- 
scending the stairs, and in a moment afterward, was aware 
that there was a very soiled cap looking at him. 

“ Mr. Lyons is out,” said the soiled cap, “ but he will 
soon be in. If you wish to wait for him, you can go up to 
the office, the back room on the first landing, you’ll find 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


69 


the chap there ; one of them Blakes or Bodkins,” continued 
the soiled cap in retreating tones, as Henry ascended the 
stairs, “ wanting money for one devilment or another.” 

When Henry reached the landing he knocked at the 
door he had been directed to. 

u Come in,” said a voice. 

He did so, and found himself in a small room smelling 
strongly of musty paper ; its furniture consisted of a high 
desk, three office stools, a table covered with papers, an 
easy chair drawn toward the latter, and an empty bird 
cage hanging up close to the window. 

It struck Henry at the time, that it might have been 
facetiously placed there by Mr. Lyons, as emblematic of 
a jail; thereby acting as a warning to his friends, to meet 
their notes, and that he had deemed the presence of a 
lively, little bird, hopping about, and seemingly perfectly 
happy in its confinement, might injure the effect. 

Sitting on one of the office stools, was a boy of about 
fifteen j^ears of age. 

Henry expected to have seen one of those half starved 
drudges, the monotony of whose lives are only enlivened 
by witnessing the agony of wretched clients and debtors, 
under the professional knife, and in which, at length, they 
take a morbid delight, that give to their countenances a pry- 
ing, roguish look. But the face of this boy was signally beau- 
tiful, dark, rich curls, clustered around liis white forehead, 
his large, hazle eyes, were fringed with long, silken lashes, 
but there was a wild, frightened expression in them when 
Henry first addressed him, which afterward subsiding into 
a hopeless, melancholy look, was very painful to behold in 
one so young. His cheeks too, were thin, and colorless 
with now and then a flush passing over them, and there 
was a nervous twitching about his mouth, as if some sup- 
pressed grief was ever present to his mind. His clothes 
seemed to have been originally of good materials and 
tastefully made, but they were now threadbare and much 
too short in the sleeves and legs. 

“ Mr. Lyons is not within, I find,” said Henry. 

‘•No sir, he is gone, I believe, to the post office,” replied 
the boy. 


70 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Do you think he will soon return ? ” asked Henry. 

“ Yes sir, he will be back in a short time.” 

“ In that case, if you will allow me, I will wait for him,” 
said Henry, walking over to the window. 

The boy got off of his stool and handed Henry the only 
chair in the office. 

“ Thank you,” said Henry, “ you have a fine view here.” 

The boy made no answer but looked toward the bay, in 
which there were, at that moment, a number of fishing 
smacks going out to sea. Soon his gaze became fixed 
and eager, and Henry, whose presence he seemed to have 
forgotten, remarked that his eyes filled with tears. 

“ Pray,” said Henry, “ are you Mr. Lyons’ son?” 

“ No Sir,” he replied, “I’m his nephew.” 

“ And your father ?” said Henry. 

The boy leaned his face upon the desk, “ I have no father,” 
he answered in a low voice. No mother, God help me. 

“My poor boy,” said Henry, taking his hand. “ My poor 
child, I did not intend by my idle question to fret you, God 
pity you indeed, for I believe you want his help.” 

“Oh don’t sir, pray don’t,” exclaimed the boy. “It is 
many a long day since any one has spoken kindly to me, 
and I — I can’t bear it.” 

As he spoke he laid his young head down again upon the 
desk, and no longer able to suppress his feelings, sobbed 
aloud. 

Henry was confounded and pained. The boy’s grief was 
so sudden and unexpected that he did not know what to 
say or do to comfort him. After a few moments he raised 
his head. As he did so a spasmodic quiver shook his frame 
and his eyes asssumed their old frightened expression. 

“ Oh ! ” he exclaimed, “ If my uncle should come in and 
find me crying.” 

The look, the tone, coupled with the boy’s recent burst 
of grief, revealed to Henry one of those little tragedies 
that are acted every day around us, numerous as flies in the 
butchers’ shambles. Seldom noticed by us, yet marked by 
Him who watcheth the sparrow fall. The plot, simple and 
world-old, — power and cruelty, on one side, helpless suffer- 
ing on the other. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


71 


“Yon must think me very foolish, sir,” said the boy, 
* you spoke so kind and gentle, and — and — I could not 
help it indeed.” 

“What is your name my young friend?” asked Hen£>. 

“ Edward Vaughan, sir.” 

“ And both your parents are dead? ” 

“Yes sir,” he replied. “And my uncle spoke so harsh 
to me this morning, that I was thinking of them when you 
came in. So when you asked about them, I — I could not 
help crying.” 

“ My dear boy,” replied Henry, “ you need not be asham- 
ed of your feelings, or make any excuse. But you must be 
more of a man Edward — your uncle is not kind to you 
then ? ” 

“ Kind,” exclaimed the boy bitterly, “ you see that 
empty cage ? Well, I had a bird in it which I brought from 
home. It was all I had belonging to my home. I hung it 
up here, because no one ever comes into this room after 
office hours, and I used to steal up and sit here in the 
mornings and evenings, listening to my bird’s song until I 
would picture myself sitting in our old parlor, and looking 
into my mother’s face. During office hours I always covered 
up the cage, lest the bird’s singing would annoy my uncle; 
but one morning I was sent out in a great hurry, and for- 
got to place the cover over the cage ; when I returned my 
uncle had the head wrung off the bird.” 

“ The brute,” said Henry. 

“ I would not mind all this,” resumed the boy, “ I would 
forgive him all his cruelty to me, if he would but let 
those that are dead and gone alone. But when he is vexed 
with me he speaks badly of my poor father and mother. 
I am sure I do not know, sir, why I make so free in telling 
you all this. You want to see my uncle on business* sir ? ” 

Henry perceived that the boy was endeavoring to calm 
dowm his feelings, but the former’s curiosity and sympathy 
were excited quite enough from the little he had already 
seen and heard to make him anxious to know more of the 
lad’s history. So, without replying to his last question, 
he said : “ What profession or calling had your father, 

Edward? You see I wish we should be friends, and so 
call you by your name.” 


72 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


He comprehended Henry, and the kind tones of his- 
question inspired him with confidence. 

“ He was a pilot, sir,” he replied, “ he belonged to this 
harbor.” 

Then, getting off his seat, he advanced to the window 
where Henry was standing, 

“ Look, ” he exclaimed, pointing to the bay, which lay 
before them, u since I was six years old, I have passed 
almost all my time on the sea. When my father went to 
meet vessels, bound for this port, he took me with him, and 
many a summer’s day, as we lay off and on waiting for 
vessels, he taught me my lessons. When he boarded a 
vessel I returned with our boatmen, and when he came 
on shore and home in the evening, he would tell me, while 
my mother sat beside him, working with her needle, all 
about the vessel he had piloted in, the name, where from, 
what cargo she had, and what gales she met with. In 
speaking thus he would, perhaps, be reminded of things 
that happened to himself at sea. I remember of his telling 
us, in this way, of a shipwreck by which he nearly lost his 
life, and how my poor mother’s cheek turned pale and she 
begged of him to stop, and how he laughed at what he 
called her woman’s fear, and told me to mind my lessons, 
and that I should one day be a great captain. Now, you 
have my history ; unless in stormy weather, when my mother 
would not allow me to leave her, keeping me, she said, to 
comfort her, until mv father’s return, there was my home, 
out there upon the sea, sailing along, free and happy as 
the gulls — now, it is here.” 

As he concluded, he turned his eyes from the bay into 
the musty little room, and then raised them to the listener’s 
face. 

Henry was about to speak, when a knock was heard at 
the hall door. The young face, so flushed a moment before 
with excitement, grew suddenly pale, and the old frightened 
look returned to those sad, beautiful eyes. 

u That’s my uncle’s knock,” said the boy, as he hurriedly 
resumed his seat at the desk, and presently afterwards, Mr. 
Bartly Lyons entered the office. 

He was a strong, square built man, apparently between 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


73 


i 


forty-five and fifty years of age, rather good looking, with a 
ruddy complexion and small black eyes, full of a keen, 
roguish expression. His other features, aware, perhaps, of 
this tell tale look, endeavored to counteract it by a contin- 
ual bland smile, but their best efforts, in that line, always 
lapsed into a mean, gToveling expression. He never openly 
resented an insult, but never forgave one. “ Is it me,” he 
one day said to a%iend, “ is it me, to take notice of what 
that vexed fool said ? When did you ever know Bartly Ly- 
ons to return the hard word? No, indeed, never; oh, by 
, I’ll catch him yet.” 

“ Mr. Lyons, I presume,” said Henry. 

“ That’s my name,” replied Mr. Lyons, bowing. 

“ I have called upon you, sir, relative to some business 
of my father’s, Mr. Daly, of Dalystown.” 

“Oh, pray be seated, my dear sir, (strong emphasis on 
dear.) I have then the pleasure and honor of seeing Mr. 
Henry Daly. I am very happy, my dear sir, to make your 
acquaintance.” 

Henry bow r ed, but was unable to say that the happiness 
was mutual. 

“ And how is your good father, sir ? and what can I do 
for you ? ” continued Mr. Lyons. 

Henry, not deeming that the state of his father’s health 
was of any vital importance to Mr. Lyons, merely replied 
to the latter part of his address. 

“You have some notes of my father’s in your hands, have 
you not ? ” 

“No, sir, not one. I did indeed cash some bills of your 
father’s acceptance, for a friend of mine, but I have passed 
them all into the bank.” 

“ I believe,” said Henry, “ they fall due toward the mid- 
dle of next month.” 

“Some of them before that time, sir,” he replied. “ Ed- 
ward,” he continued, “ hand me the billbook. Not that 
one, you stupid ass, ( striking him with the one he had 
brought,) don’t you see this is the daybook?” 

The boy’s face grew crimson, but he made no reply, as he 
returned with the right book and left it on the desk, while 
Henry was sorely tempted to finish his interview with Mr. 
Lyons by knocking him down. 


74 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Daly,” said the latter, after this 
little display of his kindly nature, but that fellow would 
vex a saint, the moping, stupid hound. He’s a burthen, sir, 
thrown upon me, by a sister of mine, who took it into her 
head to marry a fellow that never would save a shilling ; 
and then both of them must die and leave me that precious 
legacy. Yes, I thought so. Here’s the first entry : God- 
frey Daly’s acceptance to John O’Roarke’s draft ; amount, 
97 1 , 7s, 6d; due the 8th of September. Here’s" another : 
Godfrey Daly’s acceptance to James Forest’s draft ; amount, 
15 Z, 4s, 2d, due the 15th, and a tenant’s bill I cashed for 
your father ; amount, 200 Z, due the 1st of October ; making 
in all, 3122, Is, lid.” 

“ Well, Mr. Lyons,” said Henry, “ I have come to make a 
proposal to you, relative to these bills ; it is this : by your 
engaging to have them renewed, according as they become 
due, I will now pay you down thirty pounds.” 

Lyons’ eyes twinkled ; the offer was too good a one to be 
refused, so after saying something about the difficulty he 
would have in arranging with the bank, (the bills had never 
left his desk,) he consented and received the thirty pounds. 

“ And now, my dear sir,” said he, u as we have arranged 
this little business, do me the favor to partake of a little 
refreshment. Mrs L. would be happy to see you.” 

Henry, thinking that he had seen quite enough of that 
lady already, declined the honor of an introduction, and rose 
to leave, when Mr. Lyons seized his hand and again assured 
him of the happiness it gave him to make his acquaintance. 

Before leaving the office, Henry went to where poor Ed- 
ward Vaughan sat, and taking his hand, pressed it, and 
wished him good bye. 

As he had no further business to transact in the town, he 
returned to the hotel, where he had left his horse and gig. 
His hand was on the bell cord, for the purpose of summon- 
ing a servant and ordering them round, when there rose be- 
fore his mind’s eye that dismal, musty little office, and the 
face of the boy, cowering before his brutal uncle. He let 
the bell cord fall from his hand, and commenced walking 
up and down the room. “ Good heavens,” he thought, “ what 
a contrast between that boy’s present and past life. How 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


75 


vivid was his 4 look upon this picture and then upon that ? 7 
What a contrast indeed ! Out upon the dancing waves, 
with a brave father, then back to shore, to a home that must 
have been a loving, happy one, from his recollection of it. 
This was his former life, and I can judge from what I have 
seen, what kind his present one is.” 

He rang the bell and a servant answered its summons. 

“ Let my gig be brought round,” said Henry. 

44 Yes sir,” replied the man. 

“ Yet stay,” said Henry.” He took one or two turns more 
about the room, and then said : 44 Do not order my gig, as 

| yet ; when I want it, I will ring.” 

44 Very well, sir,” replied the servant as he left the room. 

Again Henry paced up and down. 44 1 have a great mind,” 
he said, giving his thoughts words, 14 to ask this uncle of his 
j to allow him to come with me to Dalystown, for a short 
time. I know my father would have no objection, and one 
month over the green fields would be new life to the poor 
little fellow. Again he was silent while he continued to 
I walk up and down. After a little time he said : 

44 Perhaps after all, it would be mistaken kindness, mak- 
ing his present life more wretched and insufferable, when 
he returned to it.” He paused, then added : 

44 No matter, his future is in the hands of Him who has 
promised to be a father to the fatherless, and if it is in my 
power now, to give his young life a few happy days, why 
should I balk myself the pleasure of doing so by anticipat- 
ing the future? Ah which of us can do that? But I fear 
I will find it difficult to get this uncle of his to consent. 
Well, I will try at all events.” 

So saying he took his hat, and bent his steps to Mr. Lyons 7 
house. As he went up the stairs, he heard the attorney’s 
voice raised in angry tones, and on reaching the office door 
the boy’s sobs were audible. 

44 1 fear,” thought Henry, 44 1 have hit on a bad time, but 
! it can’t be helped.” 

When he entered the room, Edward Vaughan’s face was 
turned toward the wall and he was in the act of wiping his 
eyes. When he heard Henry’s voice, he turned round and 
his face flushed either from shame or pleasure at seeing 
him again. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


7a 


“ Oh, Mr Daly,” said Lyons, “ happy to see you again, sir, 
have you forgotten anything ? ” 

“No indeed,” said Henry, smiling, “but I have a request 
to make to you though I do not well know how to put it.” 

“ Pray what may it be, my dear Sir ? ” said Lyons, who 
judged by the other’s face that it was no business matter. 
“ I will be most happy to oblige you if in my power.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Henry, “ that being the case I 
will at once state it. The fact is, I have taken a great 
fancy to my young friend here, and have returned to ask 
you to allow him to spend a few weeks at Dalystown. I 
did not bring a’ servant with me, so if you are good enough 
to allow him to come, he can have a seat in my gig.” 

Lyons’ face reddened while Henry was speaking. When 
he struck Edward, a short time before, it did not escape his 
notice that young Daly’s eyes had flashed, and he now 
judged pretty correctly his reason for inviting him to Dalys- 
town. 

“ But I will balk my tender-hearted gentleman,” thought 
Lyons. 

“ I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said, “but my nephew, 
unfortunately, has not been left so prosperous, that he 
can afford to idle his time visiting. He has, sir, to earn his 
own bread, and I am determined by he shall do so.” 

This rude speech almost made Henry lose temper, but 
he checked his anger when he glanced at Edward, and saw 
with what feverish excitement he listened. Indeed he now 
deeply regretted having spoken in the boy’s presence. 

“ Purely, Mr. Lyons,” he said, “ you could spare him for a 
few weeks.” 

“ Oh, as for that,” replied Lyons, “I could well spare him 
altogether, but I want to break him off the idle habits 
which a foolish father and mother gave him,” — 

“ And,” continued Henry, not heeding the interruption, 
“ I expect he would be able to remind you of his not being- 
altogether idle, by the few baskets of game he would for- 
ward to you.” 

This was a random shot of Henry’s, but it told with won- 
derful effect upon the enemy, tearing up his bowels with a 
yearning for grouse, partridge, &c.; for Lyons was a gour- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


77 


mand , and, next to a good bill of costs, loved a good dinner. 
His features relaxed as he looked down upon the desk, and 
pictured to himself the plump birds lying before him. 

“Why, really, Mr. Daly,” he said, “you are very kind, 
but” 

Henry perceiving that his shot had taken effect, interrupt- 
ed him, — this time loading the gun to the muzzle — 

“ Oh, come now, Mr. Lyons, I shall take no excuse. I 
promise you that Edward shall send you such a quantity of 
game by the coach every week, that all the good livers in 
Galway will envy you.” 

“But I was about to remark, Mr. Daly, that I don’t see 
how he could go, his new clothes are not made.” 

“ Nor likely to be,” thought Henry. So not at all taken 
by surprise at the disclosure, he replied, 

“This shall make no difference ; I am going to get a few 
things from my tailor, and I have no doubt but he has some 
ready-made clothing which will fit Edward, who shall pay 
me one of those days.”, 

In an hour after this Edward Yaughan, in a new suit of 
well-fitting clothes, was sitting behind Henry. As they 
drove out of the town of Galway, a turn in the road 
brought them in full view of the bay. A shade of sorrow 
passed over the boy’s face; then, turning to Henry, he said 
in a low voice, that fell sweetly on his companion’s ear: “If 
those in heaven can look down on us, surely there are 
two there now that bless you.” 


78 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN WHICH TOM GALLAHER TELLS A VERY WONDERFUL STORY. 

In a short time after his arrival at Dalystown, Edward 
Vaughan became a general favorite with all its inmates, 
from Mr. Daly, down to Tom Gallaher. It is true, that at 
first, the latter was somewhat prejudiced against him from 
the fact of his being an attorney’s nephew, but this feeling 
soon pased away, and together they made several fishing 
excursions. Tom even commenced to give him lessons in 
the art of mounting flies, an accomplishment in which Gal- 
laher excelled, and his imparting his knowledge to Edward, 
in this the highest branch of the gentle art, was a strong 
proof of esteem, Henry Daly being the only other person 
to whom he had taught his peculiar and very superior style. 

“Look at that grouse hackle, Master Edward, that I’m 
after tying for you,” said Tom, as they sat on the bank of a 
trout stream waiting until the sun should get behind some 
clouds. “I’m thinking, its little fishing we’ll have to-day, 
unless the clouds get up more, and that same would be a 
pity, for the wind is just in the right quarter.” 

“ Oh ! Tom, you tie flies beautifully. How did you learn 
to do it so well ? ” said Edward. 

“How did I larn, is it, Master Edward ? ” replied Tom. 
“Faith then, I dunna how I larned it. I believe it came 
natural to me. Anyhow, I was near paying dear for the 
same one day, up forninst the old castle you see beyant 
there.” 

“ How was that, Tom ? ” 

“You see, Master Edward,” he replied, “I was fishing up 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


79 


there, of an evening, and I was after putting up a may-fly, 
that was as like the natural one as two peas. Well, I cast 
the line out, saying to myself, you’ll be a cute fish that can 
tell the difference. Sure enough, I didn’t make more than 
three casts when I rose a bouncer. The next cast I tuck 
him : but your sowl to glory, I thought he would’nt leave a 
bit of my tackle together when he felt the hook. Away he 
darted, up and down the river ; he had all my line out in no 
time, so I was obliged to run along the bank, playing him, 
until the sweat (saving your presence) was dropping off 
me as big as hailstones. Well, in about twenty minutes 
he began to give in, and I saw he was nearly bet out. So 
I commenced drawing him into the bank. You see, I had 
no landing net. So I had to take hould of the line and lay 
the rod forbye me on the grass. Well in I drew until I had 
him within a yard of the bank, and his head and shoulders 
above water. “ You’ll come now, I’m thinking, says I.” 
“ Devil a toe,” says the fish. “ Arrah, what’s that at all, at 
all says I, looking about me?” “It’s plain English, says 
the fish, as well as your dirty hook, stuck in my jaw, will 
let me talk it. The Devil a toe I’ll budge from this, Tom 
Gallaher.” 

“ Oh, Tom, Tom,” cried Edward, rolling on the ground 
with laughter. 

“ Oh, faith, its easy enough for you to laugh,” said Tom, 
with a funny expression of eye, but u if you war in my place, 
with your heart jumping into your mouth, the sorra much 
you’d laugh, I’m thinking. But may be you don’t believe 
me and don’t want to hear any more of it ? ” 

“ Oh, go on, go on, Tom,” exclaimed Edward. 

“Well, sure,” continued Tom, “when myself saw it was 
the fish that was speaking, I thought no more nor no less 
than that the life would drop out of me, and says I, ‘ who 
are you, at all, at all ? ’ ” 

“ I’m Miss O’Toole,” says the fish. 

“ The saints above us,” says I, “ and what brought your 
ladyship’s honor into the water? ” 

“ Wedden, bad scram to you, you spalpeen,” says she, “Is 
it after axing me, you’d be, to discoorse the likes of you, 
and your misfortunate hook, tearing the lip out of me?” 


80 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWtf. 


“I humbly beg your ladyship’s pardon,” says I, for 1 
thought it best to speak civilly to her. “I humbly beg 
your ladyship’s pardon ; bad manners to it, for a hook.” 

“ Bad manners to you,” says she, “ that ties your flies that 
they’d decave any Christian soul of a fish that ever swam. 
I’m about here now over six hundred and twenty-one years, 
and the likes never happened to me afore. Slacken your 
line,” says she, “you murdherin rogue of the world that you 
are, and don’t be chucking me that way, or I’ll turn you 
into a pinkeen and ate you for my supper.” 

“You see, Master Edward,” said Tom, parenthetically, 
“somehow the line, ever and always remained in my hand, 
and the fright I was fn — small blame to me — made me 
shake, so that I was hurting the poor crathur unbeknownst 
to myself.” 

“ Oh, I humbly beg your ladyship’s pardon,” says I, drop- 
ping on my knee, when she threatened to turn me into a 
pinkeen, “ I crave your honor’s pardon. I’ll slacken the 
line with all the vanes of my heart, or do anything else to 
oblige your honor. ” 

“Well, be easy, now,” says she, “ until I try and ready 
myself,” and she began stirring up and down m the water. 
“ Faith,” says she. “ It’s a purty dance you’ve led me. I’m 
so tired, the dickens a one of me can wag my tail. Sure, 
it’s only laughing I’d be at the flies the gentlemen buy in 
the shops, but you’re the biggest deceiver, Tom Gallaher, 
that ever crossed me. Faith, if you delude the girls as you 
do the fish, there will be no coming up to you.” 

“ With that, she got loosened off the hook and swam in, 
quite close to the bank. 

“ Lie down there, Tom,” says she, “and put your ear close 
to the bank, I want to discoorse with you.” 

“'Tear anages, says I to myself, maybe it’s in love she’d 
be with me, (for you see, I didn’t half like the way she drew 
in about the girls,) and would be for turning me into a 
trout, for her own divarsion. So, says I, please your lady- 
ship’s honor, I’m in a great hurry home, and sure, I’m only 
a poor boy, and if the duds of clothes were off* me, (saving 
your ladyship’s presence,) and I was to be like your lady- 
ship there, without so much as a flitter on me, the devil* a 
much you’d see in me to admire.” « 


TIIE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


81 


“ What are you prating about ? ” says she, mighty cross 
like. “ Do you think it’s a fancy I am, looking to the likes 
of you ? Lie down, as I bid you, or it will be worse for 
you.” 

“Well, Master Edward,” continued Tom, “ I thought it 
best not to vex her, so I lay down on the bank, with my 
head close to the stream, and hard the most beautiful'est 
sweet voice that any one ever hard, coming out of the 
water, though sight or light of the fish I couldn’t see.” 

“ Tom,” says the voice, “ you ax’d me how I got into 
the water, and I am bound to tell you, for it is a part of my 
pinance, to be obliged to answer any one that questions me, 
but you’re the first that ever did so. I’m the daughter of 
old King O’Toole, that lived up at the castle there, forenint 
you. He was the greatest man in these parts ; and kings 
and princes cum from every side, to ax me in marriage, 
from my father ; but I loved my own cousin jarmin, a brave 
young man, who went to furren parts, to fight the Turkeys,* 
and, behold you, in a year after he left, we got an account 
of his death. Well, after this, another young prince came 
to the castle, to ax me in marriage. He was a comely chap, 
Tom, with a sweet tongue of his own in his head ; and so, 
by dad, I thought, as my cousin was dead, there was no man- 
ner of use in my keeping the foolish promise I made him, 
and I consinted to take this one. Well, sure, there was the 
greatest preparations that could be, for the weddin. Fid- 
dlers and pipers came from all parts ; and the king, my 
father, didn’t lave a baste to any of the neighbors around,, 
that he didn’t drive afore him up to the castle where they 
were slaughtered. Indeed, all the people that were left 
alive, after the scrimmage, he kindly invited to help him in 
conshumin their own cattle ; which was thought very good 
of him.” 

With that she stopped, Master Edward, and I thought I 
might as well throw in a word or two, to show her I was 
listening ; so I says, “’faith, ma’am, that same was dacenter 
than what the parson does ; for, after killing us, out and out, 
for his tithes, he only offers us a dry sarmon, he knows we 


* Note by the learned editor. — Tom must have meant the Turks. 
6 


82 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWH. 


won’t take. But, I beg your honor’s pardon for putting in 
my word; Ay course you were married ?” 

“ No, I wasn’t,” said she, quite sharp. 

“ Oh, blood an ages,” says I, “ and did all them fine vittels 
go astray ? ” 

“ No, they didn’t,” says she, “ there were plenty of fools, 
like you, to ate them.” 

“ By dad, your ladyship,” says I, “ I don’t think they were 
any great fools, anyhow, to circumvent such a sight of vit- 
tels.” 

“ Hould your tongue,” says she, u and listen to what I’m 
obliged to tell you.” 

“You see, Master Edward,” remarked Tom, “I minded, 
ever since she spoke of the disappointment in the marriage, 
her voice was as sharp as a penny whistle.” 

“ The evening afore the marriage,” says she, “ I was walk- 
ing along the bank of the river. The young prince prom- 
ised that he would follow me when he could get away from 
the punch and the company. I turned my head to see if 
he was following after me, and when I looked round again, 
behold you, there was my cousin jarmin afore me. He 
looked very pale, and no wonder, for there was a big hole 
in his side.” 

“You promised,” says he, “ to be true to me, while grass 
grew or water ran, and you war’nt, so I’m come back to 
punish you.” With that, Tom, he hoisted me up in his arms 
and pitched me into the river here. “ Stay there,” says he, 
“ while grass grows and water runs,” and in the twinkling of 
an eye I was changed into a trout. “ So now Tom Galla- 
her, go home and don’t come here no more to this part of 
the river to delude me with your flies, or it will be worse 
for you.” 

“With that, Master Edward, I felt my eyes closing, and 
when I opened them again, the sun was down, and the moon 
shining on my head.” * 

“I think, Tom,” said Edward, “It was all a dream.” 

“Sorra dream at all,” replied Tom, “it all tuck place 
just as I tould you. More, betoken, I never fished up there 
again, and when I woke up was’nt the hook just in the 
spot I saw it drop when she got it out of her mouth ? But 


THE DALYS 0E DALYSTOWK. 


83 


there’s a fine black cloud over the sun, Master Edward, 
cast the line just there where you see the curl on the wa- 
ter, and I’m thinking it won’t be long afore you get a rise.” 

“ Here goes,” said Edward, “ for Miss O’Toole.” 

Fishing with Tom, accompanying Henry on his shooting 
excursions, taking long walks with Emily,— a new and hap- 
py life was Edward Vaughan’s. He was now ever joyous 
and happy. 

The great blessing of youth is, not that we are the more 
capable of appreciating, or more keenly alive to happi- 
ness than we ever can be in after years, but that we enjoy 
it unalloyed by thoughts of the past or doubts of the fu- 
ture ; we sit at the feast, and no memories arise, like 
Banquo’s ghost, to scare us with their gaping wounds. We 
drink of the nectar sparkling in life’s cup, unconscious that 
sorrow, death and the withered leaves of hope’s fair blos- 
soms are mounting to our lips. Not, indeed, that Edward 
was forgetful of his first and early sorrows ; but surrounded 
by kind hearts, the recollection of his parents awoke not the 
poignant, hopeless grief that the shadow of his uncle’s 
house had darkened it with. He thought of them, as happy 
in heaven, blessing their orphan boy and the dear friends 
God had raised up for him. A conversation he had with 
Emily will elucidate this : 

‘ What are you doing there, Edward, you lazy boy ? ” 
said the latter, “ why are you not out, sir, such a lovely 
evening ? ” 

u I am trying to mount a fly like this one of Tom’s, Miss 
Daly,” replied Edward. “ Ah, I can never do it like him.” 

“Of course you can’t, so throw it by, and get your cap, 
and I will honor you by taking you as my companion in a 
walk.” 

Edward, not unwillingly, laid aside his fly-hook, and de- 
clared himself ready to accompany her. They passed 
through the pleasure grounds and entered on a path shaded 
on both sides with lofty oaks and elms, then out on a green 
sloping pasture, carpeted with buttercups and bounded 
by a sparking river; close to the river grew a majestic 
oak, round which was a rustic seat, on which Miss Daly 
and her companion sat down to rest. 


84 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Have yon got a penknife, Edward ? ” asked the former. 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, cut your name on this tree ; all do who come to 
this fairy spot.” 

“ Do you believe in fairies ? ” asked the boy. 

“ What a question,” she replied, “ of course I do, but I 
fear that the world is getting too matter of fact and prosy 
for the tiny people.” 

‘ What a number of names,” said Edward, who, standing 
on the seat was busily employed cutting through the thick 
bark. 

“Yes,” replied Emily, “and of those who placed them 
there, how many have passed away from the earth ! Do you 
see those two names with a heart between them, and the 
words underneath, ‘Never to part?’” 

“ Yes,” replied the boy. 

“ They were lovers, Edward, but the world parted them, 
never more to meet, and here, under their names, are the 
names of two others, grandchildren of the former and lov- 
ers likewise. They were married, but are dead many a 
day.” 

Edward had by this time finished his task, and taking a 
seat by Emily’s side, he said, “ do you believe that the 
dead can return to earth?” 

“ I believe, Edward,” she replied, “ all things are possible 
to the great Ruler, and that for some wise reasons, known 
but to himself, he may permit the dead to revisit the earth. 
But I am no believer in idle ghost stories, of haunted 
houses and rattling chains.” 

“ But do you not think,” said Edward, “ that the good and 
pure, when they die, may be permitted to watch over those 
whom they loved on earth ? ” 

“ It is, at all events, a beautiful thought,” replied Emily. 

“ I think,” said the boy in a low voice, “ that my mother 
often comes to me when I sleep.” 

“ You dream of her, Edward.” 

“But, in my uncle’s house,” he replied, “my dreams were 
always the same. I used to think that she came to my bed- 
side — her face sweet and calm, but very sad, — and whis- 
pered to me, 4 Yet a little, bear yet a little.’ Last night I 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


85 


dreamed of her again. I thought she came to me; oh how 
bright and happy was her face ! She smiled on me, I felt 
her lips press mine : the touch awoke me, I started up in 
bed, and by the moonlight, saw her form, like a shadow, 
glide from the room.” 

“ All this, Edward,” replied Emily, “is easily accounted 
for ; you feel happier here, I believe, than you did in your 
uncle’s house, and so your dreams have a bright coloring.” 

“Yes, but I was awake when I saw my mother’s figure 
passing out.” 

“You thought so, Edward,” replied Emily. 

Here a voice was heard singing : 

“ If you’ll have me, Widow Casey, says I, 

I’ll give you the life of a lady ; 

She ups and she blackens my eye, 

Take that for your thanks, Patsy Brady.” 

“ Oh, there is Tom, driving home his cows,” said Miss 
Daly. “ I must return to give papa his tea.” 

“Again Tom’s melody was wafted to them on the even- 
ing air: 

“ My father was right, I’ll go bail, 

When he coorted my mother, so cosy ; 

He hit her a lick of his flail , 

That put her nose smelling a posy. 

Oh, Shamus, says she, you’re the boy, 

That has strength in your beautiful arms. 

If you’ll smather for me, Tom Kilroy, 

You may have me, and all my young charms.” 

“ Oonsumen to you for cows, meandering about the coun- 
try as you do be, instud of stopping quietly in your own 
fine pasture, — 

“Oh, women are contrary, they say, 

Wherever you chance for to find them ; 

In the long run, they’ll have their own way, 

So your best plan is just not to mind them.” 


86 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SHOWING HOW ONE MEETING MAY BRING ON ANOTHER. 

The public meeting, to which allusion has been m 
and which was to have taken place the week subsequent 
to Henry Daly’s visit to Galway, had been postponed to a 
later date. Young 'Daly apprised his friend, O’Kelly, of the 
fact, and the time last fixed upon, and received a letter from 
the latter, expressing regret that he could not be at Dalys- 
town the evening previous, but that he would meet Henry 

in the town of T , on the day the meeting was to 

come off. 

u I am glad that you will have Anthony with you. If you 
speak, Henry, do so with moderation and firmness. I know 
pretty well the tone the meeting will take. Those outrages, 
that disgrace the country will be denounced ; and very 
proper is it, that they should be. The government will be 
called upon to adopt stringent measures to put them down ; 
but those self-constituted doctors will overlook the causes 
which have brought on the disease. Indeed, I would not 
have you to attend, but that the absence of both of us 
would, very likely, be misconstrued. God bless you, my boy, 
bring O’Kelly back with you.” 

Thus spoke Godfrey Daly, as he stood on his doorstep, 
seeing his son mount his horse and set off for the town of 
T . 

When Henry reached T — , he found the streets crowd- 

ed with the peasantry, while, in front of the courthouse, 
were a number of the gentry of the neighborhood, awaiting 

the arrival of Lord C , who was expected to take the 

chair. And, while they wait, enter on the scene, my Lord 
C . 

He was a tall man, with a long, yellow face and scraggy 
neck, around which was twisted many folds of white cam- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


87 


brie. In conversation, lie was slow, pompous, and rather 
dignified ; but his attempts at public speaking were pain- 
fully ludicrous. At such times, he kept his mouth open, 
waiting for words to come which were preluded by a crow- 
like aw, aw. He was a bad landlord, a persecuting bigot, 
and, of course, a saint. 

His lordship was accompanied, on the present occasion, 
by a Mr. MacDonough, who having, in early life, changed 
his religion to suit the views of his lordship’s family, be- 
came a protege of theirs. In this way he acquired a po- 
sition in society, which his energy and perseverance had 
much improved. Now, in his old age, he was a wealthy 
man, of large landed estates. The firm, steady way he plant- 
ed his foot on the ground when walking would tell a keen 
observer that he was one of determined will and self-reli- 
ance. 

Amongst those who came to attend the meeting were 
many expectants and hangers-on on the providence of gov- 
ernment. Squires, looking out for snug berths for their 
Jacks and Toms ; unfledged lawyers, anxious to hear them- 
selves speak and have their names in print, — almost all 
kinds of place-hunters were there .represented, from the 
aristocratic aspirant for baronial honors, down to the little 
toady whose ambitious views went no higher than a corc- 
nership. 

O’Koarke was there, busy in describing to all who would 
listen to him, the attack on his house and his valorous de- 
fence ; while his son, Tim, dressed in showy clothes, with a 
simpering expression on his unmeaning face, endeavored, 
with monkey talent, to imitate the air and manner of some 
aristocratic model. 

After Lord C arrived, a general movement toward 

the courthouse took place ; the body of the court was quick- 
ly taken possession of by the peasantry, the gentry occu- 
pying the upper part. 

Then, after the rush had somewhat subsided, Mr. Brown, 
of Brown Lodge, moved, and Mr. MacDonough seconded the 

motion, u That the right honorable Lord C do take 

the chair,” whereupon, his lordship advanced to the raised 
bench and took his seat. Then, rising, he said : “ Gentle- 


88 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


men, I thank you for the honor you have done me, in call- 
ing* upon me to preside here to day. But — aw — aw — before 
we proceed to — aw — aw — to the business that has brought 
us together, do you not think, as the meeting was intended 
to be — aw — aw — to be confined to the magistrates and gent- 
ry of the county, that the — aw — aw — lower orders, whom I 
see crowding the — aw — aw — court, should be removed ? ” 

“ Hear, hear,” from a dozen toadies. 

“ With great respect, my lord,” said Henry Daly, rising, 
“ I beg to differ with your lordship. You have announced 
a meeting to take place, to consider the present disturbed 
state of the country ; by excluding the people from your 
proceedings, you virtually say to them that they have no 
stake or interest in the country.” 

u I perfectly agree with my friend, Daly,” said Anthony 
O’Kelly, who had just arrived and bustled his way to where 
Henry stood. “ By excluding any one class, you make a 
hole-and-corner business of the proceedings.” 

u No, no,” exclaimed several gentlemen, in the neighbor- 
hood of the chairman ; whilst, from the body of the court 
was heard : “ More power, old stock,” “ open his lordship’s 

handkerchy, will ye, don’t ye see he’s choking?” 

“ Slap him on the back, he thought to swallow his own 
finger and there’s a goose’s bone in his throat — aw — aw — 
aw — .” 

Shouts of laughter followed this most successful imita- 
tion of his lordship’s eloquence. His face crimsoned with 
rage. 

“ Gentlemen, he said, turning to O’Kelly and Daly, “ the 
sense of the meeting is — aw — aw — ” 

“ Sure enough,” broke in a voice, “ it is aw — aw — and 
haw — haw — (great laughter) — . 

“ — Is against you,” continued his lordship. “ You see 
too, that, even at this early stage of our proceedings, their 
unruly conduct unfits them to be allowed to remain.” 

“ Yes,” replied Henry, “ when your lordship insults them 
by proposing their removal.” 

Lord C made no reply, but, addressing the police 

officer in attendance, directed him to order his men to clear 
the court. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


89 


A scene of general confusion here followed. The police, 
pushing back the crowd, were, in return, shoved forward 
against those occupying the upper part of the court. In a 
short time it became evident that the small force of police 

were utterly unable to dislodge the enemy, and Lord 0 

declared that he would adjourn the meeting. 

O’Kelly, who knew that such a course would be most 
pleasing to his lordship, inasmuch as it would give his party 
and himself further grounds for representing to the gov- 
ernment the turbulent and disaffected state of the peasant- 
ry, — O’Kelly, knowing this, jumped upon the table in front 
of the judge’s bench and raised his hand. In a moment 
there was silence. “ Boys,” said he, addressing the crowd, 
“ will you take my advice ? ” 

“ We will ! we will ! ” answered a hundred voices. 

“Well,” he continued, “you see that I was anxious you 
should remain where you are, because you have a right to 
be there, just as good aright as his lordship has to be where 
he is at present. But I am now anxious that you should 
leave. Do so, quietly and peaceably.” 

In a moment every face was turned to the door, the 
people seemingly now as anxious to get out as they were, 
a few moments before, to remain. And, as they retired, 
not by compulsion, but by the advice of one whom they 
respected and loved, their good humor was unshaken. 

As they hurried out many a cutting taunt and joke was 
leveled at individuals whom they disliked. 

“ Boys take care, and don’t stand on the peeler’s toes,” 
cried a voice. 

“ Don’t be pressing me that way,” shouted another, “ or 
you’ll make me as flat as Mr. Brown’s cook, that’s kept on 
boord wages, with the rats.” 

“I wonder, boys, would his lordship give us a tune on the 
old drum, his anchestor played in Cromwell’s army ! Bad 
luck to them both.” 

“Oh, then, af he did, what mighty handy drumsticks Mr. 
Doolan’s legs would make.” 

“Faith, thin, you need’nt disparage the dacent man’s 
legs, for they stood to him well, the day he run away from 
Mr. O’Kelly, there.” 


90 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Three cheers, boys, for O’Kelly and Daly.” 

A loud cheer responded to this call, which was renewed 
again and again, outside the building. 

It may appear strange that during this scene, not one al- 
lusion had been made to O’Koarke, but the people’s hatred 
of him was too deep and deadly to permit of idle jesting. 

And now, the courthouse being cleared of all but the 
privileged class, his lordship rose — but I forbear from in- 
flicting on the reader his speech, made up of cant, slander 
and an unusual number of aw’s — for the rec*"" f «cene had 
somewhat ruffled his lordship’s temper. There la- 

ments of patriotism, too, in this speech; but, unfortunately, 

such men as Lord 0 , view their country through a 

telescope, that but reflects self and party interests. When 
he spoke of Ireland, his views were bounded by his demesne 
wall ; he refused to see beyond the misery and degradation 
to which he, and such as he, had brought a noble people, and 
as fair a land as the sun looks down upon. 

Speech followed speech, resolutions were adopted calling 
upon the government to proclaim martial law — to send 
down a special commission, to increase the police force. 
These were all couched in the bitterest language against 
the peasantry, while they falsely eulogized the landlords. 

O’Kelly and Daly had, unsuccessfully, opposed several of 
these resolutions, and endeavored to substitute others in 
their place. 

But I pass over all this, as of little interest to the gener- 
al reader, and come to the speech of Mr. Brown, of Brown 
Lodge, as an incident connected with my story arose out 
of it. 

Mr. Brown was a gentleman of about thirty-seven years 
of age, whose youth had been passed in wild dissipation ; 
he was a fierce Orangeman, hating his Catholic countrymen 
with that deadly hate which only an Irish Orangeman can 
feel. He took no trouble to disguise his sentiments, for he 
was, at least, no hypocrite, and his courage was unquestion- 
able. Before his twenty -fifth year he had shot his two men 
and very coolly registered the fact on the stocks of the 
family dueling pistols, (the c flying Angels’) which bore al- 
ready nine notches, thereby recording the fact that they 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


91 


had killed their nine men ; but as they had been lent on 
several occasions to intimate friends, Mr. Brown could not 
claim for himself, or the members of his family, the exclu- 
sive honor of those bloody nicks. In person, he was a 
small, well-made man, with light sandy hair and fierce 
grey eyes. Previous to his rising to speak he had been in 
earnest conversation with some of his friends, and when he 
came forward, these latter cast significant glances to where 
Daly and O’Kelly sat. 

“They are pitting Brown at us,” whispered Anthony to 
his friend, “ so look out for squalls.” 

Brown commenced by reading a resolution ; then, as he 
proceeded, he seemed to lash himself into fury : 

“ It is time, my lord,” he said, “ to crush those cowardly 
assassins, whose religion teaches them that murder is justi- 
fiable, and whose priests are ever ready to absolve them 
of their crime. I did not, my lord,” continued the speaker, 
“intend to have interfered with the proceedings here to- 
day, but when I see gentlemen, who should be above such 
acts, siding with a Popish rabble in order to gain their ap- 
plause, I cannot refrain from remarking that it confirms me 
in the opinion I have always held, namely: that neither 
birth, education or position, can long hide the cloven foot 
of a Papist.” 

O’Kelly, who actually trembled with passion, was about 
springing to his feet to interrupt Brown, but Henry Daly 
held him down. 

“My dear Anthony,” said the latter, “I will take it as a 
personal favor if you will allow me to reply to his speech.” 

“ Well, be it so, Henry,” replied O’Kelly, “ You are a bet- 
ter hand at making a speech than I am, but, by the Lord 
Harry, I’ll speak to him with the barking irons.” 

The excitement caused by Mr. Brown’s remarks, (no one 
present for a moment doubting but that O’Kelly and Daly 
would resent the insult levelled at them,) made his friends 
forget to second the motion he had just proposed. 

Henry Daly waited for some one of them to do so, ere he 
rose to reply, and the consequence was, a pause in the pro- 
ceedings. 

“ Cowed, by whispered a red faced squire to his 


92 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWtf. 


neighbor, a tall, thin man, with white hair and aristocratic 
features. 

“ I think not, Davy,” replied the latter. “ There is not 
much coward’s blood in either of those you allude to. Ha ! 
there is Daly on his legs, and a fine young fellow he is, up- 
on my honor.” 

This remark was, in truth, justly deserved, for Henry’s 
appearance at the moment was strikingly favorable, when 
contrasted with that of his opponent, who, thrown back in 
his seat, wiped his heated brow with his handkerchief, whilst 
his fierce eyes glared around, noting what effect his words 
had. 

Henry, on the contrary, ^as cool and collected ; his fea- 
tures betraying no evidence of passion, save that his deli- 
cately chiseled nostrils were slightly expanded, and that a 
proud, disdainful smile, curled his expressive mouth. 

With head thrown back, and his tall, graceful figure 
drawn up to its full height, one might not unaptly compare 
him to a noble animal at bay ; defiant and conscious of his 
strength. 

“ I have waited, my lord,” he said, u thinking some gen- 
tleman would second the resolution just proposed.” 

In a moment there were a dozen on their legs to remedy 
the omission. 

Then Henry continued : “ Had the gentleman who spoke 

last adopted a different line of argument from the one which 
he did, I might have been inclined to reply to him at greater 
length than it is now my intention to do. I might endeav- 
or to show to you that our people are, by nature, neither 
turbulent or disaffected to those above them. I might 
show to you, that in your boasted anxiety for the peace of 
the country, you ever neglect to use justice or kindness, as 
a means to accomplish either.” 

“ Hedging, by ,” exclaimed the red faced squire to 

his neighbor. You see I was right, Seymour, he won’t 
make it personal with Brown. He is afraid of the c flying 
angels.’ ” 

“ Hold your tongue, Davy, will you,” replied Mr. Sey- 
mour. “ Ah, if my poor son Tom lived, he would be just such 
another ; these were his ideas too. What bloodthirsty looks 
Brown is giving him. d — n the fellow.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


93 


“But,” continued the speaker, “as the gentleman has 
thought proper to malign my conduct and the conduct of 
my friend here, to-day, I will confine myself to answering 
his personal attack.” 

[ Here every neck was strained forward, and so anxious 
were all present to hear what was to follow, that not a 
sound was heard but the speaker’s voice.] 

“The gentleman has been pleased to attribute motives 
to myself and my friend, for the course we have taken here 
to-day, which could only influence low and grovelling minds. 
He has gone out of his way to vilify the religion we pro- 
fess. No gentleman who has heard him, but must acknowl- 
edge that there is only one answer to all this. Flinging 
back, then, these foul calumnies to their corrupt source, 
I brand them as lies, and he who uttered them, a reckless ' 
liar.” 

Great was the confusion that followed Henry’s words, 
in the midst of which, the noble chairman announced the 
meeting as dissolved, and dissolved himself so quickly that 
the little toadies had not time to pass him a vote of thanks 
for his dignified conduct in the chair. 

As for Brown, he lay back in his seat, actually devoured 
by passion, — his face white, his eyes rolling from side to 
side, his hands clenched, and his teeth gnawing his under 
lip. It was not until a friend had whispered to him, that 
he seemed to recover his presence of mind. Then a demon 
joy lighted up his features, and, still unable to speak, he 
shook his clenched hand at Henry Daly, who seemed the 
only person who remained cool and self-possessed. As for 
O’Kelly, he appeared to be nearly in as great a rage as 
Brown. 

“ By heaven! Henry,” he exclaimed, “you have treated 
me badly; I thought it was understood between us, that 
you were to answer the fellow by argument, and that I, at 
least, was to have my share of the fighting, but you have 
taken both departments on yourself with a vengeance.” 

“ My dear Anthony,” replied his friend, “come along out 
of this, and we will talk the matter over.” So saying he 
took O’Kelly’s arm and proceeded with him out of the 
courthouse ; Anthony looking, all the while, like a sulky 
school boy, cheated out of his half holiday. 


94 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWtf. 


Many of the gentlemen’s servants, known to the police, 
had free egress and ingress, and those, delighted at being 
objects of interest, kept continually passing in and out, 
reporting bits and scraps of the proceedings to the eager 
crowd. 

The moment Henry sat down, the whole body of those 
amateur telegraphs rushed out and gave various and glow- 
ing versions of the scene which had just taken place. So, 
when Henry and Anthony made their appearance, cheer 
after cheer rent the air ; hats and caps were thrown up with- 
out regard to their future destination ; and the people 
rushing forward, shouted: “chair him, boys, chair him.” 

At the risk of being torn limb from limb by his rough ad- 
mirers, Henry attempted to resist this honor ; but despite 
all his efforts, he was lifted from the ground, and on the 
shoulders of a young Hercules. Then there was a fresh 
burst of cheeking, and a fresh shower of hats and caps. 

At this moment Brown, surrounded by his friends, made 
his appearance on the steps of the courthouse ; when the 
crowd caught sight of him, their cheers were changed to 
yells and groans ; those on the outside rushed back towards 
him with the intention, it would seem, of doing him some 
violence, but the police forming with fixed bayonets, step- 
ped between them, and barred their further progress. 

Brown had not quailed before the menacing attitude of 
the crowd ; on the contrary it seemed to revive his spirits. 
He stamped his foot in defiance, and spat at them as they 
advanced ; then pointing after Henry he said, “ your cham- 
pion shall pay me for all this.” 

Henry- Daly was not released from his lofty position until 
the crowd had conducted him to the hotel, ktto which 
he was glad to e^fcape. Then a few more cheers, and the 
crowd is gone. Lord 0 seeks the privacy of fiis car- 

riage, and is driven home. O’Koarke and Tim slink out of 
the town ; the toadies and place-hunters disappear, and in 
a short time, the little town of C resumes its usual or- 

derly, quiet look. 

Towards evening Mr. MacDonough, who had been detain- 
ed in town on some business, might be seen walking up the 
main street. There was a sneer of contempt on his thick 
lips. 


TIIE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


95 


“ What d — n fools they are, to be sure,” he muttered, 
“ from the peer to the clown.” 

Anthony O’Kelly had joined his friends at the hotel, in 
which the latter had taken refuge from his admirers. 

“ What's the next move Henry,” he said, “ Brown will, of 
course, send a friend to you. Now the quarrel is as much 
mine as yours.” 

“ Allowing what you say to be the case, Anthony,” re- 
plied young Daly, “ you will still acknowledge that he can 
but fight one of us at a time ; and as I have put the onus 
on him, I must be the first he will honor.” 

“ Yes, sir, I acknowledge you have checkmated me, but 
if you shoot Brown before I can pay him my portion of the 
debt, I will never forgive you. Was I not right in saying, 
that he was pitted against us ? ” 

“ I saw it,” replied Henry, “ long before you spoke. I 
saw that when the clique found they could not silence us, 
they determined, to hound their bully at us. For the first 
time in my life, I have given a man the lie. I trust it will 
be the last ; yet under no circumstance, will I retract one 
word I have said to-day.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied O’Kelly. 

“ I am very anxious,” continued Henry, “ that Brown 
should send a friend to me here ; for on no account would I 
have my father know anything of this business. Brown 
has plenty of friends in town', and it is not likely he will 
lose time, so we will remain here, Anthony, for some hours, 
at least. Who do you think he will send ? ” 

“ I would not be surprised if it was Frank Seymour,” re- 
plied O’Kelly. 

u I would be very glad,” said Henry, “that he was selected, 
for though wild enough, he is a gentleman. His poor 
brother Tom and I, were chums at college ; but Frank, I 
never met much.” 

“He is a fine, dashing fellow,” replied O’Kelly, “and 
though I am sure he does not care one fig for Brown, still 
if the other asks him to act as his second, I suppose Frank 
will not be able to resist the temptation of having a finger 
in the fun when it is going on.” 

Nowadays, it may appear strange that the magistrates. 


96 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 




did not interfere to prevent a breach of the peace, but 
though duelling had, to a great extent, fallen into disuse 
in Ireland, somewhere about the time I write of, and was 
no longer considered a necessary part of a young gentle- 
man’s education, still there was enough of the chivalry of 
old times remaining to make it be regarded with very leni- 
ent eyes. 

“We were out, ourselves,” said old Billy Warburton. 
“and why shouldn’t we let the young fellows now enjoy 
themselves ? ” 

O’Kelly’s last remark was just made when the door open- 
ed and in walked the very gentleman they had been talk- 
ing about. He seemed a well-looking young fellow, with, 
what is called in Ireland, a devil-may-care, good humored 
look. He shook hands with Daly and O’Kelly. 

“Iliad hard work to escape from the old gentleman,” he 
said, “ he has been hunting for me in every quarter.” 

“Not in the church, Seymour,” said Anthony. 

“No faith, my father would never look for me there,” he : 
replied, “ I am sorry to say, Daly, that I have come on a ; 
very unpleasant business.” 

“ You come, I presume, from Mr. Brown,” said Henry. 

“ Yes, I assure you I would prefer that it was to some one j 
else I had to deliver a hostile message.” 

“ Oh make no apology,” answered Henry, “ I am only too i: 
glad that Mr. Brown has selected so unexceptionable a \\ 
friend. I will take for granted the message delivered, and ; 
refer you at once to my friend, O’Kelly, with whom I will 
now leave you.” And bowing to both gentlemen, Henry i, 
Daly left the room. 

“Well,” said Seymour, “ I never saw a greater difference 1 
between any two men. Daly, I confess, takes the matter 
as a gentleman should, but Brown, why he is like a Bengal i 
tiger thirsting for blood. I suppose, O’Kelly, we have not 
much to do but appoint time and place. Brown will ac- 
cept of no apology.” 

“ He is not likely to be offered one,” replied O’Kelly. 

“ Then,” said Seymour, “ as neither party is willing to 
give or accept an apology, we had better arrange time and 
place. Where do you propose to open the ball ? ” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


97 


“ I am for Ballygill,” replied O’Kelly. “ There are nice 
level fields there, near the bridge.” 

“ It is what Sir Lucius O’Trigger would call c a sweet spot,’ ” 
replied Seymour. “ Do you know it was there the old gen- 
tleman and your father fought?” 

“ So it was, by George,” said Kelly. 

“ He has the bullet in his leg yet,” replied Seymour ; and 
when he gets the gout, he complains that k O’Kelly’s limb 
troubles him more than the other.’ What hour do you say ? 
Will six suit you ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” replied O’Kelly, “ I do not think we could 
have good shooting-light earlier.” 

“ I must try and get Brown to eat his breakfast, before 
starting,” remarked Seymour, “he is entirely too savage to 
bring, fasting.” 

“ Oh, please the fates,” said O’Kelly, “ we will tame him, 
when we get him there.” 

“ When he and Daly have settled, then my turn will 
come on. By heaven,” continued O’Kelly, reddening with 
passion, “he shall fight with me ; and I tell you, Seymour, 
that if it was any one of his clique that came here to-day, 
as his friend, I would have asked him to take Brown’s place, 
so that the whole business could be settled at the same 
time.” 

“ I do not see, O’Kelly,” replied Seymour, growing a little 
red in his turn, “ how your fighting with his second could 
satisfy your claim on Brown.” 

“Not in your case, Seymour,” replied O’Kelly, “ but had 
it been one of his own clique that he sent, — (I believe, on 
my honor, they were one and all afraid to come,) — I would 
sooner have a shot at him than at Brown himself. Mean, 
sneaking cowards, as they are, Brown, at all events, has the 
courage to avow, and the manliness to defend the senti- 
ments of his Orange heart.” 

“ I am very glad, at all events,” replied Seymour, “ that you 
think it unnecessary to put a hole through my body. Dis- 
tance, we can settle on the ground, so I will not detain you 
from your friend, who may have some matters to arrange 
with you. Good bye, O’Kelly, and God grant that all will 
end well to-morrow.” 

7 


98 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER X. 

A DUEL, AND ITS RESULTS. 

When Frank Seymour took his departure, Henry joined 
his friend, and was informed by him of the arrangements 
just made. It was then settled that Henry should accom- 
pany O’Kelly to Orearen, at the same time sending his horse 
back to Dalystown, by a messenger, who would carry a 
note to Mr. Daly, from his son, stating that he was going to 
O’Kelly’s place, and would not return home before the fol- 
lowing day. The messenger was also instructed to deliver 
a verbal message to Tom Gallaher, directing Tom to bring 
to Orearen, Henry’s hunter. 

“ It is as well,” remarked O’Kelly, “ that we should have 
two good horses on the ground, lest the police should take 
it into their heads to interfere ; but we shall travel in my 
gig. It will be the more convenient way to carry the pis- 
tols ; besides, the exercise of riding might make your hand 
unsteady.” 

“For heaven’s sake, Anthony,” replied Henry, “ don’t 
speak that way or you will make me look upon myself as 
a murderer, in intent, at least.” 

“ You will have to defend your life to-morrow,” replied 
O’Kelly gravely, “ before one who is a murderer in heart, 
and who thirsts for your blood ; and you must do it as best 
you may, within the laws of honor.” 

As soon as the messenger was dispatched to Dalystown, 
the two friends left the town of T r- — for Orearen. An- 
thony’s brothers were still at Salt Hill, so that Mrs. and Mr. 
O’Kelly were the only persons whom Henry expected to 
find at his friend’s house. 

Festus O’Kelly, Anthony’s father, was a gentleman of 
about sixty years of age. Silent and grave, and of manners 
courteous but distant, he ftiixed little with his own class, 
nor was he popular amongst them; but there was another 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


99 


class that actually dreaded his presence, namely: those 
styled by the country people, “ buckeens,” or half-gentle- 
men. 

No matter how free one of these might make with others, 
the moment he came into the presence of Festus O’Kelly, 
he felt his assurance, like Bob Acre’s courage, “ oozing out 
at the palms of his hands.” 

His studied and freezing politeness, his cold haughty eye, 
and his proud, thin lip squashed a buckeen ; yet, in his in- 
tercourse with the peasantry, he was kind and affable. The 
fact was, he never forgot the former splendor of his ancient 
house, or ceased to mourn for it, until that which, under 
favorable circumstances, would have been but proper dig- 
nity of manner, had grown into a cold, haughty pride. 

Before the sun had gone down that evening, the news of 
Henry Daly’s intended duel with Brown had transpired 
and spread far and near. This was to be expected ; but 
another circumstance, rather strange, was, that the time and 
place of meeting had also become known. The principals 
and seconds thought themselves the only persons acquainted 
with the details, and, most certainly, they had not divulged 
them. '*As the Irish are said to have an innate love for 
fighting, perhaps sympathy had something to do in the 
matter. Like the war horse, they “ scented the battle from 
afar,” and, even before Henry’s messenger had reached 
Dalystown, the news had found its way into the servants’ 
hall ; but was carefully concealed from those most inter- 
ested in it. 

Mr. Daly felt somewhat uneasy, when he received Hen- 
ry’s note, though he made no remark on the subject to his 
daughtef. She, too, felt, as she afterwards mentioned, a pre- 
sentiment of coming evil, wherefore, she knew not. But 
even had Mr. Daly been made acquainted with the facts of 
his son’s quarrel with Brown, he could not in those days, 
with honor to himself or Henry, have interfered. 

This news caused the most intense excitement among the 
peasantry of the neighborhood, and was the subject of 
every cottage fireside for miles around. Some dreaded that 
Henry should fall, and their grief at the supposed calamity 
was mingled with vows of vengeance against Brown ; oth- 


130 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ers, again, looked at, to them, the bright side of the pic- 
ture, and enjoyed, in anticipation, the Orange bully falling 
before their young champion. 

“ In the mean time, Daly and his friend, O’Kelly, retired 
early to rest, the latter accompanying Henry to his room. 

“These are the pistols you will use, Henry,” said Anthony, 
opening a mahogany case, “ I will bring them to my own 
room to examine, and see that they are all right ; you have 
some letters to write, you say, there are pens and paper, I 
will return again.” 

Left alone, Henry sat down to write those sad letters of 
farewell, which O’Kelly was to deliver, 'in case of his death. 
As he paused, collecting his thoughts for his painful task, 
a deep sorrow overshadowed his features, and his hand 
shook so that he was obliged to lay down the pen ; for there 
came to him a vision of his father, in his desolate old age, — 
of two mourning figures, sitting in the old parlor of Dalys- 
town; then he thought of another, — would she, too, mourn 
for him ? Yes, in those solemn moments, he knew that he 
was beloved ; the doubts of the lover vanished, and she ap- 
peared before him in all the purity of her young love, weep- 
ing over his early grave; and, burying his face in his hands, 
the big tears fell through his fingers on the paper before 
him, and he sobbed aloud. His own grief startled him. He 
arose and walked about the room. 

“ This is unmanly weakness,” he said. a What would even 
Anthony suppose, did he find me so ? Father in heaven,” 
he continued, “ I am unworthy to pray in my own behalf, 
but if I fall to-morrow, oh, comfort those who will mourn 
for me.” 

He went to the window and let down the sash ; the moon, 
which had been hidden by some dark clouds, suddenly 
emerged from them, and flung her calm light into the room. 
It came like a messenger of peace, and he hailed it as a 
good omen. The night air, too, revived his spirits ; his 
eyes, a moment before dimmed with tears, lighted up with 
the courage of his race, and the trembling lips became firm 
in their expression. “ Cold, murderous villain,” he said, 
“ thirsting for my life, you shall never know what anguish 
you have caused me.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


101 


J ust then, O’Kelly entered the room. “ What, Henry,” 
he said, “ making sonnets to the moon? I thought you were 
about to write some letters.’” 

“ Yes, Anthony, but as I sat down to do so, the thought 
of my poor father and Emily quite overcame me ; and, faith, 
if you had been a few moments sooner, you would have 
found me, I believe, crying.” 

“ And if I did, Henry,” replied his friend, “ I would not 
have thought the worse of you ; but tut, man, nothing shall 
happen to you, I have made up my mind that you are to 
shoot Brown.” 

“ God forbid,” said Henry. 

“Well, I will be satisfied,” answered O’Kelly, “that you 
wing him. Do you like how this pistol is balanced ? ” 

“ Oh it will do very well,” replied Henry carelessly. 

“ Henry,” said his friend, “ you must not go into this 
^ business in a careless manner, you must take every honorable 
means to defend your life ; for we know that the man you 
are about to meet is a professed duellist. Let me see now ; 
how do you intend to stand ? ” 

“ By my valor, Sir Lucius,” said Henry smiling, as he put 
himself into a position, “ I will stand edgeways.” 

“ Right,” said O’Kelly, “ y?u must leave him as small a 
mark as you can.” 

“ Egad,” replied Henry, still quoting Bob Acres, “ I will 
make myself small enough.” 

“ After the scene to-day,” remarked O’Kelly, “ Brown 
will drink hard to-night, and have an unsteady nerve in the 
morning. And now, Henry, write your letters, and then 
get to bed. Nothing like a good night’s rest before going 
on the ground. What are you smiling at? ” 

“ I was thinking, Anthony, that it would be a bad busi- 
ness if I resembled Bob Acres half as much as you do, Sir 
Lucius O’Trigger. If Mr. Brown’s hand does not shake, 
Anthony, you will see them at home ; tell them that my 
last thought was of them,— my last unworthy prayer for 
them.” 

O’Kelly made no reply, but kept looking down at the 
pistol he held in his hand, while the muscles of his face 
twitched with suppressed emotion. 


6 


102 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ You promise me, Anthony,” repeated Henry. 

“ Oh d — n it, I do,” he replied, starting off and bustling 
about the room. “ By George, I’ll shoot some of those ras- 
cals in the morning.” 

Here a servant entered the room to announce the arrival 
of Tom Gallaher, with Mr. Daly’s horse. 

“ Tell him,” said Henry, “ to come here ; but stay, where 
is he now ? ” 

“ In the stable, sir,” replied the man. 

“ Well, I will go there to him,” said Henry, and the ser- 
vant withdrew. 

“ What do you want to see him for ? ” asked O’Kelly. 

“ I am anxious to find out,” replied Henry, “ if my father 
has heard anything of this business. I will be back in a few 
moments.” 

He found Tom in the stable, grooming the horse, and 
calling him into the yard he asked: “Did my father send 
any message by you ? ” 

“ No sir,” replied Tom. 

“ Nor Miss Daly ?” 

“ No sir.” 

Henry paused a moment, and then turned to leave the 
yard, saying to Tom, “that is all I wanted to ask you.” 

But Tom called after him, “ Mr Henry, sir.” 

“Well, Tom, what is it? ” asked Henry. 

“ Oh, Mr. Henry, is it true ? ” 

“ Is what true ? ” said Henry turning quickly around, 

“ Oh what’s in every one’s mouth. Oh sir, are you going 
to fight Mr. Brown ? ” 

“ Did my father hear anything of this ? ” asked Henry 
turning pale. 

^ Never a word, sir ; who’d go tell him the likes ? But I 
see now that it’s true. Oh, wirrah, wirrah.” 

Henry, who dreaded a scene, perceiving that Tom’s grief, 
if not quickly checked, would soon merge into the Irish 
cry, went over to him and catching him by the arm, said : 
“ What do you mean, sir, by this nonsense ? You must have 
been drinking, Tom, and lost any little reason you ever 
had.” 

“ The never a blessed drop entered my lips to-day,” re- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


103 


plied Tom. But sure, I met a raven on the road, as I kem 
along, and the death-watch is in my ear all the day. Oh, 
wirrah, wirrah.” 

Henry was now really vexed. However, he took the on- 
ly course likely to check Tom’s grief. 

“Why, you infernal booby,” he said, “ what is the matter 
with you ? I did intend that you should bring on Mr. O’Kel- 
ly’s horse and my own in the morning. But we must get 
one of the servants here, for we do not want a blubbering 
coward.” 

“And will you take me along with you, Master Henry ? ” 
asked Tom. 

“ Yes, if I see you can conduct yourself.” 

“ Whoop ! ” cried Tom, now totally forgetful of the raven 
and the death watch, in the anticipated delight of being 
present at a duel. 

“Well, continued Henry, as he moved off to enter the 
house, “ have the horses ready at five, and when you have 
Fox made up, go to your bed.” 

“ Maybe,” soliloquised Tom, as he entered the stable, “ I 
won’t have a two year old* in the heel of my fist for him, 
af he knocks but a button off your coat.” 

A fine morning, was it, as Henry Daly and Anthony 
O’Kelly drove down the avenue of Crearen. The crows 
cawed in the ash trees and the thrush and robin sang mer- 
rily in the young plantations. It seemed to Henry a prof- 
anation to disturb the calm beauty of nature, with man’s 
petty passions. There is something very beautiful in the 
first hours of the young day : all nature starting into life, 
fresh and joyous, as when God said: “let there be light;” 
and even the withered heart, touched with this heave'nly 
bloom, becomes forgetful, for a while, of the graves of earth. 

Night, in its solemn beauty, speaks to the soul, of the 
past and the future, rather than of the present. Lost loves, 
hopes and joys, flit on the shadowy shore and beckon to us ; 
but morning comes, robed in the fresh glory of existence, 
and, like a young, blushing bride, woos us to present hap- 
piness. 

An hour’s drive brought the two friends within view of 


Large stone. 


104 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

the place settled on for the meeting; but, to their great 
astonishment, the bridge and fields adjoining were crowded 
with people. 

“ By the Lord Harry,” exclaimed O’Kelly, “this is too bad, 
the whole country seems to have turned out. How on earth 
did they discover where we were to meet ? It is not likely 
that Brown’s party would let it be known, or be anxious for 
their presence.” 

“ It is very annoying,” said Henry, “ what are we to do ? ” 

“We must go somewhere else,” replied O’Kelly, “ Brown 
would never fight with such a mob around him, and who 
could blame him, for ” 

“ For, if anything happened to me, the people would deal 
roughly with him, you think,” said Henry. 

“ All the police in Galway, could not save him, Henry,” 
answered O’Kelly. “ Ah, here the other party come — a 
whole troop of them, by George.” 

As he spoke, about a dozen horsemen crossed the bridge 
from the opposite side. When within a short distance of 
the two friends, they drew up and seemed to be holding a 
council of war. In a few moments, Frank Seymour rode 
up to O’Kelly’s gig. He seemed excited, and after a hur- 
ried salute, he said : 

“ This is cursedly annoying, O’Kelly; who could have let 
these fellows know anything of our arrangements ?” 

Anthony did not like the tone in which this question was 
put, so he replied, somewhat sternly, “ if sir, you ask me 
that question, supposing that I will be able to answer it, 
you are much mistaken. Their presence here is as great a 
surprise to Daly and myself as it is to your party ; though, 
thank God, we don’t fear it.” 

8eymour’s face flushed as he replied, “ I do not for a mo- 
ment suppose, O’Kelly, that you or your friend had any 
knowledge of their coming; but what are we to do ? Brown 
will not, nor would I allow him, to fight in the face of such 
a mob.” 

“ You have plenty of horses among you,” replied O’Kelly, 
let you and your friend mount the two best. Fortunately, 
myself and Daly have come prepared for a thing of this kind. 
We can cross the country by different routes, and meet at 
the wood of Doone.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


105 


Seymour at once acquiesced in this, and returning to his 
party, he and Brown, with one or two gentlemen, equally 
well mounted, set off for the place pitched upon. Then 
Henry and Anthony mounted their horses, the latter carry- 
ing the pistol case which Tom Gallaher handed to him out 
of the gig, and wheeling round, they leaped the wall bound- 
ing the road, and took a different direction in order to mis- 
lead those they were leaving behind. 

Up to this, the crowd had remained immovable on the 
bridge and in the fields adjoining, but after watching for a 
few moments the direction taken by the two parties, a sim- 
ultaneous rush was made by the people toward a large bog, 
adjoining the road. 

“ Hurra, boys,” shouted Tom Gallaher, heading the crowd, 
in a few long bounds, “ Hurra, they’re off for the wood of 
Doone ; let’s cross the bog and we will be afore them, do 
their best.” 

In the mean time, Henry and Anthony kept on their 
course in a zigzag line. Skirting the bog for about two 
miles, then turning to the right, they made direct for the 
wood. Brown and his party, in avoiding the bog in the 
apposite direction, had about the same distance to travel, 
and the consequence was that both parties arrived at the 
wood at the same time. But how great was their vexation 
to find the crowd there before them. 

Henry, who happened to be quite close to Brown, when 
the latter reined up his horse, saw his swarthy face flush 
with passion at this second interruption, and Seymour, again 
coming forward, inquired of O’Kelly what they were to do. 

“ This part of the country is so full of those d — d bogs,” 
he said, “ that we will be met, whichever side we turn.” 

“ Take things cool, Seymour,” replied Anthony, “ your 
friend shall not be disappointed. Bather than have him so, 
I give you my honor Daly shall fight him in his own parlor 
at Brown Lodge. But wait a moment until I speak to these 
nimble-legged gentlemen, and try and get them to let us 
fight this quarrel out in peace and quiet.” 

He then advanced to the crowd. “ Boys,” he said, how- 
ever you found it out, it is evident you know the business 
we are here for ; but I think I can tell you something you 


106 


THE DALYS OF DALY STOW If. 


don’t know "or seem to remember, Mr. Brown will not fight \ 
in your presence, and if you continue to interrupt us, it 
will be said that Mr. Henry Daly, fearing to meet Mr. Brown 
on equal terms, had you collected to intimidate him.” 

“ Who dare say it , sir ? ” said a young fellow, stepping j 
forward. 

“Those, James Delany, that you cannot stop,” replied ‘ 
O’Kelly, “ and who will be but too glad to have a coloring j 
for their lies, which your conduct is giving to them.” 

And Anthony looked full in the faces of two of Brown’s j 
friends who had ridden over to listen. 

“ Now, we will leave this place, for some other,” contin- 
ued O’Kelly, “ and I ask you, if you would not wish that 
dishonor should fall upon Mr. Daly’s name, not to follow us.” 

“We will do your bidding, sir,” replied the young man 
whom Anthony had addressed as James Delany. “ Not a 
man of us shall follow, and God speed ye and protect them 
that ever sided with the poor man. Go your ways, sir, but, 
Mr. Anthony, bring him back safe to us, or ( and he moved 
close to O’Kelly’s horse, whilst a dark scowl came to his 
face,) revengehim like a soldier, as you are.” , 

Killure Castle, a lonely spot, far removed from any road 
was the next place fixed upon, and no time was lost in set- 
ting out for it ; O’Kelly and Daly leading, Brown and his 
party following, at a little distance. 

“Curse this infernal galloping,” growled Brown, “it will 
unsteady my hand.” 

“ So much the better,” replied one of his friends, “ it will 
give Daly a chance.” 

“ A chance,” replied Brown, turning almost fiercely on 
his friend, “ yes, I fear he will have that chance, but, by 
, not one that I can avoid giving to him.” 

It was near nine o’clock when Killure Castle was reached, 
and when the horses were secured in the old ruin, without 
further delay, the seconds commenced to load the pistols, 
in each other’s presence. 

The time this occupied was spent by Brown in walking 
restlessly about, and switching the grass on each side of 
him. 

Henry Daly stood apart, his arms folded, his features 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


107 


.calm ; at one moment, a look of contempt seemed to cross 
them as his eyes followed the restless motions of his ad- 
versary. 

“ What distance shall we put them up at, O’Kelly ? ” asked 
Seymour, “ twelve paces, eh ? ” 

Brown heard the remark and called out: 

“ What are you talking about, Seymour ? twelve paces 
be d — d. Seven is quite distant enough.” 

“ Mr. Brown,” replied his second, 44 if you attempt to in- 
terfere I shall leave the ground. Mr. O’Kelly is the chal- 
lenged party, and as such can determine the distance. In 
no case have you a right to speak, unless through your 
second.” 

Brown bit his lip ; 44 well then,” he said, 44 be quick a tleast.” 

Henry beckoned O’Kelly over to him. 44 Anthony,” he 
said, 44 let the distance be seven paces, or five, if he wishes it.” 

“ Why, to tell you the truth, Henry,” replied O’Kelly, 44 I 
am for putting you up at a short distance, especially as you 
are cool; and Brown, I see by him, is in such a rage that his 
hand must shake. I will now, Mr. Seymour,” he called out, 
44 measure seven paces, and, when our men are placed, you 
will be good enough to give the word.” 

The ground is measured ; the principals placed in their 
positions. 

“ Mind, Henry, ” whispers Anthony, “ aim below the hip.” 

“ Gentlemen,” says Seymour, in a clear voice, 44 the word 
shall be 4 one — two — three.’ — at three, both shall fire. Are 
you ready? ” 

44 Yes,” they answer. 

Then says Seymour, in a slow voice — 44 one — two— three.” 

At the word three, the report of Henry’s pistol is heard, 
but Brown’s has missed fire. 

44 Curses on you,” he exclaimed, dashing it to the ground, 
44 quick, Seymour, another pistol.” 

The seconds advance. 44 For God sake,” whispers O’Kelly 
to Henry, as he hands the latter a fresh pistol, 44 take good 
aim, you fired too high ; remember the fellow is thirsting 
for your blood. Below the hip, Henry, aim below the hip.” 

Again the seconds retire; again Seymour repeats 4 one- 
two — three.” 


108 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


This time there are two reports. Henry staggers back a 
pace but, recovering himself, he again stands in his position, 
while Brown, with a yell of rage and pain, lets his pistol 
drop from his hand, which falls powerless and bleeding by 
his side. O’Kelly rushes forward to Henry. A deadly pale- 
ness is spreading over the features of the latter. 

“ I am hit, Anthony,” he says, “remember your promise; 
oh, my poor father,” and he falls, fainting, into the arms of 
his friend. 


! 




CHAPTER XI. 

It was evening as Godfrey Daly, with a troubled step, 
walked about his drawing room. The sun had not set, and 
its slanting beams fell upon the floor and weaved golden 
threads through Emily Daly’s rich brown hair, as the young 
girl sat at the open window, her fair head resting on her 
little white hand. 

From copse and lofty tree, came the songs of birds. The 
bee, unwearied, still buzzed from flower to flower, and the 
mottled butterfly, tired of play, rested amid the beds, from 
which each passing breeze went laden with sweet perfume. 

But the beauty and harmony of the hour was unnoticed 
by Godfrey Daly and his daughter. As the former crossed 
and re-crossed the room, he frequently stopped, stood for 
moments, gazing on the carpet at his feet, while his pale 
lips quivered with suppressed emotion. Sometimes low sobs 
met his ear and he hurried to where Emily sat, patted her 
head gently, and then again resumed his walk. But at the 
slightest noise, on the stairs or landing, both started and 
looked towards the closed door in breathless anxiety. At 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


109 


length it opened and an elderly gentleman entered the 
room. Let me pause to look at him a moment, for he is 
one whom I have loved. He wore a black body coat ; his 
vest, small clothes, and silk stockings were of the same 
color, and on his highly polished shoes were silver buckles. 
His white hair, plentifully powdered and tied in a queu, 
hung down over the collar of his coat. His years were 
seventy-five, yet his step was still elastic, his cheeks ruddy 
and his eyes bright. There was a beauty in the old man’s 
face, for in his heart was a stream of gentle benevolence, 
whose pure waters had kept green his ripe old age. 

“Well, doctor,” said Mr. Daly, hurrying towards him and 
taking his hand, while Emily, with parted lips, listened for 
the words which were to follow. 

“ My dear friend,” answered Dr. Kelly, “ Henry, at pres- 
ent, does not suffer great pain, though I had to inflict much 
upon him. Emily, you can now return to his room, but 
speak as little as possible. After what he has suffered he 
must be exhausted and may sleep. Sit down, my friend,” 
continued the doctor, addressing Mr. Daly, pointing to a 
chair, as he took one for himself. 

“ Oh, doctor, have you discovered the ball ? ” asked Mr. 
Daly. 

“ No, I am sorry to say I have not replied the doctor, 
“ this second attempt to do so has failed, and there is too 
much inflammation about the wound at present to repeat 

it.” 

“Merciful God ! ” exclaimed Mr. Daly, “ tell me, doctor, 
what consequences you foresee or apprehend from this.” 

“ Godfrey Daly ” replied the old man, “ I will tell you, and 
tell you truly, not alone because I know you to be a brave 
man, but also for that I have seen you in years past, when 
you and I were younger than we are now, mindful from 
whom the bolt sped that laid you prostrate.” 

Mr. Daly covered his face with his hand. “ Merciful God,” 
he murmured, “ are the sins of my youth to be again visited 
01 the young and good ? ” 

“Tut, tut, Godfrey,” said the doctor, “speak not thus. 
Blind worms that we are, let us not question the means an 
Almighty Wisdom takes to reward or punish us. Trust to 
his mercy that Henry will be spared to you.” 


110 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWtf. 


“ Bless you, doctor, for saying so,” replied Mr. Daly. 

“Yes,” continued Dr. Kelly, “ there is room to hope, andj 
cause to fear. The ball entered at the hip, and took a down* 
ward direction ; this makes me hope that it is lodged in the ! 
fleshy part of the thigh ; if so, there is not much to appre - 1 
hend. But if it has passed to the opposite side, touching, 
perhaps, the coating of the stomach in its course, there is 
much to fear.” 

“ Much to fear ?” repeated Mr. Daly. 

“ Yes,” said the other, in that cas^ I would dread mortifi- 
cation.” 

“ But, can nothing be done to guard against this ? ” ex- 
claimed Mr. Daly, “I will send to Dublin for the first physi- 
cians to assist you, doctor..” 

“ It would be useless for you to do so, ” replied the doctor. 
“They could do nothing were they here. We must wait 
events, and keep Henry as quiet as possible in the mean- 
time.” 

“When may the symptoms you dread appear, doctor?’ 

“I trust, never; but the danger will not be past for ten 
days, unless ” 

“ Unless what, doctor? ” broke in the poor father, to whom 
ten days’ suspense seemed an age. 

“ Unless the ball gives some evidence of its situation be- 
fore then,” replied the doctor. “ If it is lodged in the flesh, 
most likely the part near it will become inflamed. In that 
case we would know where to look for it, and be able to ex- » 
tract it.” 

“ Oh ! may God in his mercy spare my noble boy,” said 
Mr. Daly. “ Doctor, you must stay with us altogether, un- 
til those dreaded ten days are past.” 

“ I will be with you, Godfrey, as much as I can; but there 
are others who have a claim on my time.” 

“ Oh, no doubt — no doubt,” replied Mr. Daly. “ I have, 
spoken foolishly ; grief is selfish, my good doctor, and makes 
us heedless of the sufferings of others.” 

“You have heard, ‘Godfrey, I suppose,” said Dr. Kelly, 
“the origin of poor Henry’s quarrel with Brown?” 

“Yes; Anthony O’Kelly told me all about it. Henry 
acted quite right. My brave boy was not to be put down 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Ill 


by an Orange clique, or their murderous champion. Hear 
me,” he continued, rising from his chair, and drawing his 
tall figure up to its full height, whilst a fierce fire shot from 
his eyes, “if my child dies, I swear” — 

“ Stay, man ! stay your rash vow, that might well bring a 
curse upon your house ! Listen ; the man you would make 
it against will be either a cripple or a corpse within forty- 
eight hours. As I came here, I met Dr. Whistler, coming 
from him. Whistler tells me that Brown’s hand is fright- 
fully shattered, and unless he submits to have it amputated 
— which he objects to— he cannot survive. In any case, 
the physician dreads lock-jaw, in consequence of the mus- 
cles of the hand being so torn. Shame ! — shame ! Godfrey 
Daly, that I should have to tell you this, to keep you from 
vow r s of vengeance and sin.” 

Long before the doctor ceased speaking, Mr. Daly had 
fallen back into his seat, his head drooping, and the fire 
gone from his eye. 

“Forgive me, James,” he said; “pardon me, my old 
friend. I had forgotten myself.” 

Miss Daly here entered the room. She was smiling 
through her tears, and came to announce that Henry had 
fallen into a tranquil sleep. 

“Who is with him now, love? ” asked her father. 

“Edward Vaughan,” she replied; “and I am returning. 
I only ran down to tell you this good news.” So saying, 
she left the room. 

“ Who is that boy ? ” inquired Doctor Kelly. “ He re- 
mained in the room while I was examining Henry’s 
wound, and as I left he followed me out to the lobby and 
gave me such a look of anxious inquiry, whilst tears 
streamed down his face. Who is he? ” 

“ He is a nephew of Lyons, the attorney,” replied Mr. 
Daly. 

« Bartly Lyons P said the doctor. 

“ Yes,” answered Mr. Daly. 

“ Where did the fellow get so decent a nephew, 1 won- 
der ? ” said the doctor, “ and how did he come among you ? ” 

Mr. Daly slightly blushed as he answered, “ Henry had 
some business with Lyons, and met this lad in his office 


112 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


having taken quite a fancy to him, and suspecting, I be- 
lieve, that Lyons was not over kind to him, he brought him 
on a visit, in order that he should run about and enjoy 
himself for a little.” 

“ Ah,” said the doctor, “ that was so iike Henry’s warm 
heart and fine impulses; I am no judge of faces, if this 
boy is not worthy of any kindness shown to him.” 

It was late that night when Doctor Kelly and Mr. Daly 
retired to rest; sleep, neither of them did, for, in a meas- 
ure, the good old doctor was as uneasy about his patient as 
Godfrey Daly himself. Emily would not hear of leaving 
her brother, so a sofa was wheeled into the room on which 
she might lie down. 

Edward Vaughan, at the request of Henry himself, "had 
left him, and promised to go to bed, but long after the 
house was still, Emily thought she heard some one at the 
door; she opened it, and there stood Edward. 

“Do not be hard with me,” said the boy, “but I cannot 
rest. How is he ? ” 

“ He sleeps, Edward, but the least noise disturbs him. 
Go to bed like a good boy,” she replied. 

“ Oh I would not disturb him for worlds,” he answered. 
When it is morning, may I not come here ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Emily. 

“ It is a long time off,” he murmured, “ but I will wait^” 
and he stole noiselessly away. 

When Emily had again closed the door, Henry waa 
awake, he moved in his bed, and his sister was in a mo- 
ment at his side. 

“ Who was that speaking to you Emily?” he inquired. 

“ Edward,” she replied. « How do you feel, dear Henry ? * 

“ I am in pain, love, since I awoke.” 

“ Shall I call the doctor ? ” 

“ No — no he answered, “ he told me I was to expect pain. 
Indeed he seemed to think the absence of it would be an 
unfavorable symptom.” 

“ You will be soon well, dear Henry.” 

“ I trust so, sweet sister, I would not I should leave you, 
and my poor father. What is the hour ? ” 

“It is just two,” she answered. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


113 


u Emily, love,” he said, “lie down, and I will try and 
compose myself to sleep again.” 

She stooped and kissed his cheek, and then moved softly 
to the sofa. For a short time she rested upon it, and then 
slid gently on her knees. 

Long and fervent were the prayers of that pure heart, 
for as the morning’s light streamed in through the half clos- 
ed shutters, it fell upon the form of the young girl, still 
kneeling ; her head bowed, and her arms crossed over her 
virgin breast. — 

“ Nevertheless, oh father,” she murmured, “ Thy will be 
done.” 

Three days had now gone by since Henry was wounded, 
and the ball still remained unextracted, and its situation 
unknown, when towards evening he complained of great 
pain below his hip, in the fleshy part of his leg, and on ex- 
amination Dr. Kelly gave it as his opinion, that they had at 
length discovered the hidden enemy. 

Another physician, Dr. Whistler, who was in attendance 
on Mr. Brown, was called in, who concurred with Dr. Kelly, 
as to the position of the ball, and the necessity for an im- 
mediate operation. 

« We will give you some pain, Mr. Daly,” said Dr. Whist- 
ler, “ but a man who stood before Brown, and the ‘ flying 
angels,’ won’t mind that much.” 

u They tell me doctor,” said Henry “ that you are in at- 
tendance en him, how is he ? ” 

“ Oh he is getting on nicely,” replied the doctor, “ since 
the amputation of his hand.” 

“ Good God,” exclaimed Henry, “ I did not hear of this 
before. I have maimed him for life.” 

“ By Jove,” replied the doctor, “ some people saythatyou 
did a very good thing when you spoiled his shooting, 
though here’s my friend, O’Kelly, who, I fear, will never 
forgive me for the hand I had in making him lose all 
chance of being shot by Brown. Look at him, Dr. Kelly, 
does he not give me very unforgiving looks ?” 

Thus chatted away Dr. Whistler, pretending, with pro- 
fessional tact, to make light of the nice operation Dr. 


8 


114 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Kelly had confided to his hand, for the latter loved Henry 
as a son, and dreaded’ to trust his own nerve. 

As Emily was about to be led from the room by Mr. 
Daly, Henry said, “you will return, father, will you not? ” 

“ Yes, my child,” replied Mr. Daly. 

“Would it not be better,” remarked Dr. Whistler, to 
Henry, “ that your father should not be present.” 

“ I would wish to have him with me, doctor,” answered 
Henry, “if you have no objection.” 

“ Oh not the slightest,” said the doctor. 

Mr. Daly quickly returned and sat down by his son’s 
bedside ; his face was deadly pale. Henry stretched out his 
hand to him, and he clasped it between both his own. The 
operation commenced, and although the knife cut deep and 
the forceps caught the shrinking veins and arteries no moan 
escaped Henry’s lip, nor did his father perceive the slight- 
est tremor in the hand resting within his own. All through 
the operation, he kept his eyes fixed with a fond, encourag- 
ing look upon his father’s face, and seemed proud to let the 
old man see how bravely he could suffer. At length, to 
the joy of all present, the ball was skilfully extracted, the 
wound dressed, and a drink of weak wine >and water given 
to the patient. 

“ I will not attempt to portray the feelings of Godfrey 
Daly during the operation, or when he saw, as he believed, 
the danger which Dr. Kelly had dreaded, past. 

“You shall do no more mischief,” said the latter, taking 
the bullet between his fingers and walking to the open 
window. 

“ What are you going to do with it, doctor ? ” asked An- 
thony O’Kelly. 

“ I am going to throw the devil’s lead out of the window, 
Anthony,” he replied. 

“ Oh don’t,” said the other, “ give it to me.” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “and have you shooting some 
one else with it. No, no, Mr. Anthony, make your own pills, 
I am told you are a firs c-rate hand at the work.” So saying, 
he flung the ball out of the window. 

“ Bad as they are,” replied O’Kelly, laughing, “ they never 
killed half so many as your doctor’s pills.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


115 


“ People don’t use them quite so much, Anthony, said the 
old doctor, “ perhaps that accounts for it.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

In which the reader is introduced to a ribbon lodge, in ses- 
sion ; ALSO, TO A CHARACTER, TERRIBLY IRISH ; BEING RAISED, 
FOSTERED AND FITTED BY THE PATERNAL GOVERNMENT OF 
ENGLAND, FOR THE EXCLUSIVE BENEFIT OF THAT PART OF HIS 
majesty’s DOMINIONS. 

t 

In a cabin, standing in the middle of a patch of unculti- 
vated land, surrounded on every side by a large deep bog,, 
on a dark stormy night, in the month of September, were 
four individuals, three of whom sat at a fire composed of 
peat and bog deal. 

The cheerful blaze lighted up the small room and revealed,, 
distinctly, the features of its occupants. On opposite sides 
of the hearth — grate there was none — sat, or rather crouched, 
an old man and woman ; both seemed bent with age, and 
the woman’s skin was shriveled and smoke-dried. She 
mumbled to herself, seemingly taking no notice of the con- 
versation going on between the old man, her husband, and 
another person who sat on a chair, the only one in the room, 
opposite to the fire. 

There was a strong contrast between these two men. Ho 
who sat on the chair, with his arms folded and his huge 
limbs stretched lazily out, was in the prime of manhood. 
On his brawny shoulders, was a large frieze overcoat, thrown 
back in front, its long skirt resting on the ground. He wore 
no waistcoat, and his shirt, unbuttoned, left to view his 


116 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


bull throat and broad, rugged chest. In features, he was 
all the brute. On his head was an old hat, slouched down 
so far over his shaggy eyebrows, that the inside rim rested 
on his flat nose, almost concealing, altogether, his dull, vul- 
ture eyes. 

On the contrary, the old man was of diminutive stature; 
his small, shriveled body was, as I have said, bent with age^ 
yet, when in motion, his step was light and catlike. His 
legs, from the knees down, were bare, disclosing knotted, 
cordlike muscles running down his small calves. His fore- 
head was low but intellectual ; his nose, high and hooked ; 
his eyes bright and piercing ; but the whole expression of 
his face was in his mouth, and so damnable was the smile 
of those thin lips, that the burly ruffian, who now encoun- 
tered it, averted his head with a shudder of fear. 

“ Monam an dhoul,* ” he said, “ but you must have got 
that sweet grin of yours from the devil himself.” 

“ I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Maloney,” replied the old 
man, “ and I’ll be tender in contradicting you, for belike, 
you’re well acquainted with the gentleman you mention, 
he, he, he.” 

^ Will you stop that infernal grinning?” replied the oth- 
er, “ and look at a person like a Christian. What o’clock 
is it ? ” 

“ I broke my watch the last day I was out hunting,” said 
the old fellow ; “ ask Molly there, I believe her’s is going, 
he, he, he.” 

“ May the devil admire you, you old weasel,” replied Ma- 
loney, “it would be but right to twist your neck, and save 
the hangman a job.” 

“ You’re more likely, I think, ma bouchel,f to give him 
one he, he, he.” 

Maloney, who felt that with the tongue at least, he was 
no match for the other, muttered an oath, and said , “ Casey, 
I’m in no humor for your bantering, there’s weighty work 
to be settled on to-night, and the boys ought to be soon 
here. Stir up the old woman there, and get her to bring 
us a naggin or two of whiskey.” 


My spill to the devil. 


f My boy. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


117 


“ She’s mighty deaf, Mr. Maloney,” replied Casey, “ mighty 
deaf all out, devil a thing can she hear but the jingle of 
money in one’s fist.” 

“What do you mean, you old thief?” said Maloney. 

“ What do you mean, you gallows bird?” answered Casey, 
as his humor changed, and his eyes twinkled with rage. 
“ I’d have you to know I was christened as well as yourself. 
The devil a tint of whiskey you’ll get here until you pay 
for it. It’s seldom we see the color of your money, and the 
best word in your mouth is a curse or a bad name for a 
body.” 

a Ay ! that’s my thanks,” said Maloney, “for bringing the 
boys here.” 

“ Thank you for nothing,” replied his friend, “ I’d like to 
know who, besides myself, would let the likes of you into his 
house ; and I’d have you to know, Mr. Maloney, that the 
boys drank whiskey here, ay, and ped for it, before you 
ever brought your handsome mug from Tipperary.” 

An oath was again on Maloney’s lips but he checked him- 
self. 

“ Well,” he said, “there is no use in friends falling out, 
here’s the money, so shake the old woman up, get the whis- 
key and help me, yourself, to drink it.” 

On this, Casey got up from his corner, and crossing over 
to his wife, shook her by the arm, at the same time bawl- 
ing in her ear, “ Molly — Molly.” 

“ What do you want ? ” replied the old woman, “ don’t 
be disturbing me at my prayers.” 

He, — he ! laughed the old fellow, “ Molly’s mighty relig- 
ious all out, and signs by it we have all manner of good 
luck.” 

“ Luck, luck,” said the old woman, catching at the word, 
“Yes I made Barney nail a horse shoe over the door, for 
luck,” 

“ So you did, Molly,” replied her husband, “ and it’s as 
crooked as his own foot. He, he, he,— but get up, I say. 
Mr. Maloney, the dacent man, — he, — he, — he, — wants 
something to drink, and here’s his honest money, he, he, 
he, to pay for it.” 

« Money,” said the old hag, brightening up, and taking a 


118 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTO WH. 


piece of silver from her husband’s hands, she examined it 
by the light of the fire, after which she dropped it into an 
old purse which she drew from her bosom, and then hobbled 
into the next room; presently she returned, bearing a bot- 
tle and a glass. 

“ There’s half a pint there,” she said, addressing Maloney‘ 
“ and you owe for another since you wor here last.” 

Maloney took the bottle and glass from her |palsied 
hands. 

“ Here’s luck,” he said, filling out a bumper of whiskey 
and tossing it off. 

As the old woman tottered back to her seat, her eyes 
fell upon the form of a young man, who lay stretched on a 
bundle of straw in one corner of the cabin, some distance 
from the fire, but near enough to allow its light to fall upon 
his face and figure. 

He was not over twenty years of age, but his features 
wore that premature, old look that one often sees with 
those who have suffered much from pain, or sickness in 
their youth ; one of his legs was much shorter than the 
other, and the foot so turned in that the heel pointed out. 
It was not what is termed a club foot, but seemed as if it 
had been wrenched around, by some frightful accident. He 
lay on his back with his hands supporting his head, his 
eyes half closed, but not from sleep, for now and then he 
shot quick, furtive glances to where Maloney sat. 

When the old woman’s dim sight rested on the figure of 
her grandson, she said in ton^s one hears addressed to a 
child, (for the old woman had ceased to take note of time, 
and continued to look upon him as such,) go to bed ma 
lanna* go to bed asthoref and you’ll see what a fine warm 
breakfast I’ll give you in the morning.” 

“ What are you talking about,” said Maloney, “ are’nt the 
boys to meet here to-night, and is’nt the boccaghj; our sec- 
retary ? ” and he gave a loud, hoarse laugh. 

The old woman hobbled on to her seat, and as she turned 
her back upon her grandson, she again became forgetful of 
his presence, but if Maloney could have seen and read the 
look of deadly hate that shot from the cripple’s eyes as he 
listened to the contemptuous tone of voice in which the 


My child. 


-j- Darlin. 


\ Cripple. 


119 


|THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 

other spoke of him, and how his pale cheek flushed up at 
the word “ boccagh,” Mr. Maloney would, if quick at read- 
ing men’s thoughts, have seen things to be dreaded and 
disliked even more than Casey’s smile. 

Shortly afterwards countrymen, in groups of twos and 
threes, or singly, entered the house, until the small room 
became quite crowded. The most of these were wild, tat- 
tered-looking young fellows, and there was a reckless, dev- 
il-may-care look, even in the manner in which they shoved 
each other about as they entered. 

“ What are you about, Dan Sullivan ? ” said a young fel- 
low, as a push from behind nearly upset him, “ do you want 
to make me tear the dacent man’s carpet, that’s just the 
same as the one’s on the gentlemen’s drawing rooms ? ” 

“ How’s that, Tom ? ” asked another. 

“ Bekase one’s foot sinks in it.” And, apparently with 
great effort, he raises his foot out of the soft mortar with 
which Mr. Casey had been filling up the holes in his earth- 
en floor. 

There were, however, amongst them a few young men of 
better appearance and more comfortably clad. These stood 
a little apart from the others, and eyed Maloney with no 
very friendly looks. In the meantime, that worthy had 
kept his seat, nodding now and then to those who entered; 
whilst the cripple, who had risen, stood at the fire, holding 
his thin hands over the blaze. 

Mr. Casey went into the only other room the cabin con 
tained, to prepare for his guests. His task was not a diffi- 
cult one. Placing a couple of long forms, as many chairs, 
and half a dozen turf baskets bottom upwards, round a long 
deal table, he set thereon a bottle, with a lighted candle 
stuck in its neck, and having stood for a moment, admiring 
his arrangements, he returned to the outer room, and an- 
nounced that all was ready, and that they had better go in 
at once, “for devil burn another candle was in the house.” 

Laughing and jostling each other, the men made their 
way into the inner room, where Maloney and the cripple 
had already preceded them. 

“ Manners, boys, manners,” shouted a huge fellow, shov- 
ing those before him. “ Take off your hats, gintlemen, Mr. 
Maloney is going to open the meeting with prayers.” 


120 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Troth, his father has a great deal to answer for,” said 
another, “ for not making a parson of him ; he has a heav- 
enly look between the eyes.” 

“ Get out, you omadhawn,” replied the first speaker, 
“ Don’t you know his tinder heart would never let him col- 
lect his tithes from a poor body ?” 

“ Oh, I’m thinking he might get over that weakness ; and 
what a beautiful clerk Barney would make,” and, amid the 
laughter of the others, the fellow drawled out “ amen.” 

Maloney scowled, from under his heavy eyebrows, at the 
speakers. 

“ Sit down, boys,” he said to the others, “ we have some- 
thing else to do besides listening to the balderdash of them 
fools. Get the books, Barney.” 

, The cripple went over to a box, and, opening it, took 
therefrom an ink bottle, with the stump of a quill pen stuck 
in it, and three or four soiled sheets of paper,, styled by Mr. 
Maloney u the books,” and returning, laid them on the table. 
As he did so, a young man entered the room. He was a 
fine, handsome looking young fellow, fully six feet high, 
and though not so broad across the shoulders and chest as 
Maloney, one of the fancy would have backed him against 
the latter. His frieze bodycoat was well made, and fitted 
closely to his body. His short knee-breeches and gray 
stockings displayed, to great advantage, his well formed 
legs. The home-made linen of his shirt was white, and well 
made up. Round his neck was a black ribbon, tastefully 
tied, and a straw hat with a green band, sat jauntily on his 
head. His countenance was open and engaging ; yet was 
there a wild, daring expression in his eyes that told of a 
spirit which would seek danger for the very love of it. Per- 
haps, under different circumstances, he would have been a 
renowned hero — a mighty slayer of men. As it was, he 
was but the best dancer, the best hurler, the best fighter, 
with stick or fist, in the barony of T- , and son to rath- 

er a comfortable farmer, on the lands of Dalystown. He 
was the same man who had addressed Anthony O’Kelly, on 
the morning of Henry Daly’s duel with Brown. 

“ It’s a wild night, boys,” he said, on entering, “ but you 
seem merry enough, here. Faith, you’re starting the grouse 
and plover in the bog, with the shouting you have. ” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


121 


“ Ay,” answered Maloney, “It’s well we’re so deep in the 
bog, or they’d bring the peelers on us.” 

Several of those present called out to the new comer : 

“Here, James, come here.” “James, come over here, I 
kept a place for you beside me.” “ James Delany, here’s 
a beautiful stool that only wants two legs, and you can 
mend that same with a sod of turf.” 

The person thus addressed went over to where a young 
man, about his own age, sat. The latter, who was one of 
those I have mentioned as being more respectable-looking 
than the majority of Mr. Casey’s guests, made room by his 
side, and J ames Delany sat down. 

And now commenced a knocking on the table, with sticks 
and knuckles, and loud calls to Casey to bring something 
to drink. 

“ What willyez have, gentlemen ?” said the latter, stand- 
ing at the door and grinning into the room. 

“ What will we have ? you old dried borawn, wine, to be 
sure ! What the devil can you give us but your cursed 
whiskey, that’s more nor half bog water ? ” 

“ Oh, boys, listen to him,” said Casey, “ disparaging the 
blessed licker that Matty Keef sold me, and it the best still 
he run these two years.” 

“ Ah, but how much water did you put in it since ? ” ask- 
ed the first speaker. 

“The never a drop, Larry,” answered Casey. “It’s as 
free from wa f er as your eyes war the day you buried your 
old mother, he — , he — , he — .” 

“ Oh! by ,” said the young fellow, jumping up, “I’ll 

knock the wind out of your old carcase.” But those next 
to him caught his arms, and one of them said. 

“Sit down, Larry, you brought the old villain’s tongue 
upon you, and sure you wouldn’t disgrace yourself by 
touching the likes of him.” 

Larry’s passion evaporated as quickly as it had arisen, 
and, laughing, he resumed his seat, whilst Mr. Casey laid 
some whiskey on the table, together with one drinking 
glass, and four or five broken-down, dissipated looking tea- 
cups. Mr. Casey, however, did not withdraw until the reck- 
oning was paid, for, like other good men, he. had cause to 
complain of the forgetfulness of friends. 


122 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“You’re late to-night, James, I thought you weren’t go- 
ing to come at all,” said he who had made room lor young 
Delany. 

“I couldn’t help it, Tom,” replied the latter, “ I was up 
at the big house* asking for Mr. Henry.” 

“ And how is he, James ? ” 

“ Oh very bad entirely. Kitty Donavan tells me he is not 
expected to live. Troth I had no heart to come here to- 
night, and I wouldn’t but that I promised yourself.” 

“I thought he was getting better since the doctor took 
out the ball,” said the other. 

.“ So he was,” replied Delany, “until the fever (God save 
us,) kem on him.” 

“ Devil a much better he is than the others,” remarked 
Maloney, who had overheard the conversation of the two 
friends, “I’m told he did nothing since he kem home but 
abuse us, and say we ought to be transported.” 

“You’re a liar, Maloney,” cried young Delany, jumping 
up, while his teeth set in passion, “you’re a liar, and I tell 
you so to your face. How dare you speak of him so, and 
what do you know about him? ” 

The ruffian quailed before the fiery looks of the young 
man. 

“ It’s true enough, he replied, I don’t know much of him, 
but I know if he was a friend to the people he’d let us 
alone.” 

“ It’s because he is a friend, that he spoke as he did,” an- 
swered Delany. 

“ That’s a purty way of talking, for a mimber,” said Malo- 
ney. 

“ To h — 1 with your membership,” replied the other, 
“ and only for the oath I was fool enough to take, I’d pitch 
you and it to the devil. Sorra much luck I saw in the 
country since you kem amongst us. Where’s the use in 
taking guns that you’re afraid to use, and leaving them in 
the fir-bushes until the stocks rot off them? Much good 
would O’Roarke’s guns do you, and poor Mike Donelan lost 
his life on the head of them.” 


Hie landlord’s residence, 


THE i)ALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


123 


When Donelan’s name was mentioned, a low murmur ran 
round the table. 

“Yes,” continued Delany, “him that’s lying low in his 
bed to-night, was right when he told old Marks Finnerty, 
that we were mad vagabonds, (I mind well, Maloney, what 
you’re driving at,) and doesn’t the priest say the same, and 
worse, and maybe you’ll tell me he’s no friend to the peo- 
ple either?” 

“ gorras, what James Delany says is true enough,” re- 
marked one of the company. 

“ Ay is it,” said several others. 

Maloney saw that a crisis was at hand, he was well ac- 
customed to those sudden ebullitions of reason, regret, and 
anger on the part of his dupes, and now, like a skilful 
general, determined to turn the position the enemy had 
taken, so that it would bring about the very object he had 
in view. Afteija few momentsjhe said : 

“ You are right, J ames Delany, the devil a much use in 
taking guns, af they are never to be used. Mick Donelan, 
too, lies low in his bloody grave, and a comely boy he was; 
his poor mother lies besides him, both murdered by 
O’Roarke. How long are they to remain there, boys, afore 
we take vengeance on the murderer?” 

The whiskey had by this time gone pretty freely round, 
and already showed its effects on some of those present. 
The moment O’Roarke’s name was mentioned, every head 
was raised, and when Maloney had concluded, several call- 
ed out, as they struck the table with their clenched hands, 

“ Aye, revenge, revenge, on the murderer, O’Roarke.” 

James Delany, placing his arms on the table, let his 
head sink down upon them. 

Maloney marked the effect his words had produced, and, 
for a moment, his cold, heavy eye rested in triumph on the 
young man ; then he continued: “ Do you think, boys, we 
contint ourselves, in Munster, with taking guns and leaving 
them in the bushes? No, faith, we take the guns first and 
shoot the owners afterwards.” 

He paused, and was greeted on every side with shouts of, 

“ Well said, Maloney.” “ That’s the talk.” “ More power 
to you.” 


124 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


At this moment a man entered the room. He might not 
have numbered more than forty years, but as he then was, 
it would have been impossible to have judged his age. His 
frame was that of a large man, but bent and emaciated. 
His face was fleshless, with high cheekbones, like those of 
a skull ; the lips thin, bloodless, and drawn apart, showing 
the long yellow teeth ; the eyes so far sunk in, that but for 
their restless glare, one might suppose the sockets to be 
empty. He was dressed in tattered clothes, if clothes they 
could be called. An old corduroy trowsers hung in ribbons 
down his legs, and an old frieze coat, secured at the waist 
with a straw rope, was wrapped around his body. In the 
excitement Maloney’s words had caused, few noticed his 
entrance. One or two, as he passed them, handed to him 
whiskey, which he eagerly took and drank off, and then 
moved on to where a bed stood, in the farthest end of the 
room, and sat down upon it, where his figure became lost 
in the gloom that the one miserable candle but faintly dis- 
pelled. 

Maloney now saw, by the flushed faces around him, that 
his audience were prepared for what he wished to announce, 
and that the voices of the few who might wish to oppose 
him, would be swept away and silenced by the fierce pas- 
sions he had evoked. Striking the table, then, with his 
broad hand, he yelled : u Boys, let O’Roarke, the murderer, 
die — die like a dog.” 

Though all expected this, yet a thrill shot through the 
heart of the most reckless there, as the words of death came 
from the ruffian’s lips, but this feeling was momentary, and 
a dozen voices repeated his words : “ Let the murderer die.” 

“ Now, James Delany, are you satisfied?” said Maloney, 
“ you see we’re not going to leave the guns idle. ” 

“ 1 never meant this, as God is my judge,” said Delany, 
raising his head, “ I never meant it, and you know, Maloney, 
in your black heart, that I didn’t. What I meant was, that 
when I joined, I thought there was to be a fair, stand up 
fight for Ireland, as you said there would.” 

“ Well, aviek, and so there will ; every beginning is weak, 
and it’s easier to shoot O’Boarke than to take the castle of 
Dublin.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


125 


And, giving a horse laugh, the fellow winked at those 
around him. His words were received with cheers and 
laughter, whilst J ames Delany, folding his arms, remained 
silent. 

“ Now, boys,” said Maloney, “ we’ll call over the names 
of the mimbers, and after that we’ll draw lots to see who is 
to do O’Boarke’s job. Barney, read the list.” 

During the above scene, the face of the cripple, who sat 
next to Maloney, had evinced no emotion, save a sickly 
smile that parted his thin lips, from time to time, as he 
looked upon the flushed countenances, and listened to the 
savage yells around him. When Maloney addressed him, 
he took up one of the papers before him, and conlmenced 
reading from it. 

“ Stay a moment, Barney,” said Maloney. “ Boys, those 
present are to answer to their names ; and, Barney, do you 
put a cross after the one that’s answered to. Now com- 
mence again.” 

“ Dan Sullivan,” said Barney. “ Here.” cried a voice. 

“ Tim Larkin.” “ Present.” 

“ Larry Bryan.” “Absent.” 

“ Tom Grehan.” “Here.” 

“ Shamus Kue.* ” “ To the fore.” 

“ Murty Joyce.” “ Absent.” 

Pat Dwyer.” “ Here, your sowl.” 

“ James Delany.” 

There was no answer, and Barney hurriedly called out 
another name, without marking Delany as present. 

“ What do you mean you d — n boecagh,” said Maloney, 
striking him on the face, “ don’t you see James Delany is 
present, and why don’t you put a cross to his name ? ” 
z “ Shame, shame,” cried several voices, and it was likely, 
had Barney resented the blow, that a general row would 
have taken place, which might have put a stop to all fur- 
ther proceedings that night, but he had no wish that such 
should be the case. He bent his flushed face over the 
paper, as he said, “ it’s no matter, he did not hurt me, and 
sure he’s right, I am but a boccagh,” and then again, com- 
menced to read over the names. Having called out about 


* Red James. 


126 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


forty of them, he counted over those he had marked, and 
announced that there were twenty members present; in 
this number James Delany was included. 

“ Go outside the house, Shawn,” said Maloney, “ and pull 
some straws out of the thatch.” 

The man addressed went out and soon returned. 

“Now, boys,” continued Maloney, taking some long 
straws from the man’s hands, and dividing them into dif- 
ferent sized pieces, “I will put twenty of these into a hat, 
and the man who draws the shortest, is to be the one to do 
for O’Roarke. Is that fair ? ” 

“ Aye, all fair,” “ devil a fairer,” were the answers he 
received. 

“ Hould it, Murty, and shake them up well, every one 
must have a fair chance, and here goes for luck.” 

He dove his hand into the hat, as he concluded, and 
drew out a straw. The hat was now passed round the 
table, each person, as it came to him, drawing from it. 
James Delany was the last to whom it was handed ; he 
started, and, scarcely conscious of the action, put his hand 
in and drew a straw ; it was the last and the shortest. 

Several persons at once called out, “James Delany has 
it, measure, measure,” and all stooped forward, holding out 
their hands, but there was scarcely any occasion for meas- 
urement, for the straw J ames Delany held was fully an 
inch shorter than the others. 

“ It’s a trick, a damnable trick, ye have put upon me,” 
said the young man, starting up, whilst large drops of per- 
spiration stood out upon his forehead. 

“ There was no trick in it, Delany,” answered Malony, 
“ and you have to shoot .O’Roarke, or get some one to do it 
for you.” 

“Never,” said Delany, recovering his strength, and draw- 
ing himsel fup to his full height. “ What, murder a man, in 
cold blood ? Never ! Black, murdering villi an that you are, 
I defy you, I defy you all.” 

A loud, menacing murmur of anger arose as he conclu- 
ded, and the eyes of savage, half drunken men glared up- 
on him, whilst those of the party amongst whom he had 
taken his seat, exchanged glances, as if preparing to defend 
him, if necessary. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


127 


“James Delany,” said Mai onev, in a slow, deep voice 
“ do you refuse to obey orders ? ” 

“ I do, I tell you I do, I tell you I defy you,” he replied, 
stamping his foot upon the ground. 

“Very well,” said Maloney, “ now listen ” 

But ere he could repeat the first words of that fearful 
sentence, which each of those present had sworn to exe- 
cute against a disobedient member, the man who had been 
sitting on the side of the bed, and whose presence was en- 
tirely overlooked, when the drawing took place, advanced 
to the table. 

“You have left me out, Mr. Maloney,” he said. “I’m a 
mimber and have a right to draw.” 

“Yes, yes,” exclaimed Delany’s friends, “it’s all wrong, 
we must draw over again.” 

“ There’s no occasion,” answered the man, “ I’ll take James 
Delany’s place, and do your bidding. Give me some whis- 
key, Larry.” 

“Will you shoot O’Roarke?” asked Maloney. 

A strange, fearful fire shot from the sunken eyes of him 
to whom this question was put. He dashed the cup which 
had been handed to him, on the floor. 

“ Will I shoot him? ” he hissed through his closed teeth. 
Aye ! I’ll shoot him, drag out his heart and lap up its blood, 
like the starved dog he has made me.” 

His hearers shuddered, and tipsy men grew sober, as they 
listened to him. 

“ By the Holy Virgin,” he continued, “ it only looks like 
yesterday, when young and strong and tinder-hearted, like 
James Delany there, I brought Mary home. Oh, cushlama 
chree,* wasn’t I the happy man that day ?’ and it was my- 
self that had a right to be so.” 

He paused and fixed his eyes upon the ground, seemingly 
recalling the past to memory. So still was the room, that 
the heavy breathing of his listeners was distinctly audible. 
Suddenly he raised his head, “Give me another glass, 
Larry,” he said, “ you nagur,f you’re keeping all the whis- 
key for yourself.” and he gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. 


* Pulse of my heart. 


f Miser. 


128 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


The man whom he addressed handed him some more whis- 
key, in a cup ; he drank it off. 

“ It’s no more nor water,” he said, laying down the vessel. 

“ Well,” he continued, “I worked hard, late and early, to 
pay the rent and keep the cabin for Mary, and I did it, 
asthore.* But O’Roarke came and took the land over my 
head and over the heads of many others like me. He raised 
the rent, though God knows it was too high before ; and 
the same year the oats grew so short that we had to pull it 
up with our hands, and there was nothing of a head upon 
it, at all, at all. But, sure I’m telling you what you all knew 
before. You all heard how O’Roarke brought the sheriff to 
drive us out of house and home. Well, that very same time, 
Mary was down in the fever. I had to carry her out in my 
arms, herself and the child, one by one ; and when O’Roarke 
and his bailiffs and the sheriff was gone, I got some of the 
wattles and scraws that war on the cabin they were after 
tearing down, and I laid them up against the ditch, making 
a kind of shed for Mary and the child. They stopped in it 
all that night, and the next morning I went to a neighbor’s, 
for some milk for them. As God is my judge, O’Roarke 
and his bailiffs kem, while I was away, and stripped the sods 
off the sticks, and taking the sticks themselves, they set 
fire to them in the field.f As I came back, I saw the "blaze 
and thought it was the shed that took fire, over their heads. 
The sight left my eyes, but I ran on, blind and staggering, 
and threw myself over the ditch, and there, afore me, was 
my wife, my Mary, manine asthee hu,J the rain beating on 
her pale face and her blue eyes open, as if she was looking 
at me ; but the light was gone out forever from them, and 
the weeny§ child lay dead, across her breast.” 

Again he paused, again he stretched out his bony hand. 
More drink was given to him. He tossed it off, and turn- 
ing to Maloney said, 

“You’re a stranger in those parts, and axed me would I 
shoot O’Roarke ? I say I will. Do you think, now, I’ll 
keep my word ? ” 

Whatever horror the first words of this man had inspired, 


* Darling. 


fED — Strictly true, upon my honor. }My soul’s within you. {Little, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


129 


was quickly swallowed up in the wild, burning thirst for 
vengeance which the story of his wrongs had called forth. 
If Delany, or the few who would act with him, thought, in 
the commencement, of frustrating Maloney’s designs, they 
knew now how utterly futile such an attempt would be. 
Nor, in truth, was James Delany, who had shrunk a moment 
before from the thoughts of blood, now altogether free from 
the dark passions thus invoked. So surely does the first 
false step frequently lead to crimes, that in the beginning 
the heart revolts from in horror. How many . a wretch, 
looking back to what he was, has put to himself the ques- 
tion, how is it possible I can be what I am? 

Maloney grasped the man’s hand, as he said : 

“ You have the heart of a man, in you, Bryan Larkin, and 
we’ll trust you. Before a month’s over you’ll have your 
revenge, hot and heavy, on O’Koarke. And now, boys, 
let’s drink healths round, and success to the cause. We’ll 
meet again this night week. There’s some light work to 
do ; we have to call upon some friends for fear they’d be 
forgetting us, and mind be ready, and tell the others, not 
here, to be ready to pay in their fees the next night of 
meeting. In the meantime we must find out what fairs 
O’Roarke will be likely to attend this month, or next month, 
if we have to wait so long. I’m told he’s more valorous - 
like when he drinks at a fair, and less on his guard, than 
he does be at other times.” 

The business of the night being now concluded, Barney 
arose, and putting the papers into the box, went to the out- 
er room, and in a short time those who had just settled on 
committing a murder, were chatting, laughing, and singing. 
But neither James Delany or his friends remained with this 
party. As the former passed into the outer room, he found 
the cripple sitting by the fire ; the old woman had gone to 
bed, and Mr. Casey feigned sleep. 

u How do you feel, those times, Barney? ” asked Delany. 
“Does the pain in the back be troubling you yet?” 

“ Troth it does, James,” replied Barney. 

“ I wish you could get some scholars to teach, Barney,” 
said the other, “I was speaking to my father about you, and 
he says you can have the use of the barn, and welcome.” 

9 


130 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Thank yon, James,” replied the cripple, “ you never 
wanted the kind word.” 

“Well, think about it, Barney, anyhow,” said Delany. 
“ And a good night to you.” 

“Good night, James,” replied the cripple.. 

“Never wanted the kind word.” Oh, how simple and lit 
tie this appears to be, a kind word, what is it ? Does it 
weigh as a feather? does he who travels with it, feel it 
burdensome, or does he lose anything when he gives it 
away? Yet, is it more powerful than the screw of Archi- 
medes ; yet, does its quick lightning shiver into atoms 
the rocks fate prepares to hurl at us. Why, even here, in 
this foul hovel of crime, it enters the heart of the miserable 
traitor that crouches over the expiring fire, and saves him 
that bestowed it from a shameful death. 

In about an hour after James Delany left, those who had 
remained after him, took their departure, somewhat under 
the influence of Mr. Casey’s blessed liquor, but with reason 
enough left to enable them to find their way across the 
bog. 

Maloney was the last to leave. Silently and alone he 
crossed the heath, and, as I leave him to pursue his way, 
let me pause a moment and endeavor to fathom the motives 
that led him to pursue his dark and bloody trade. 

He is no creature of the imagination, whose character 
and motives I might fashion to my will. He has existed, 
spoken, and acted as I have feebly attempted to portray 
him ; and here, at the very^ outset, I confess myself at fault. 
Was it that his wicked nature revelled in crime? If so, 
could he not have indulged it without the assistance of a 
motley crowd of strangers, all of whom held his life in their 
hands? or was he Lucifer himself, seeking thus, in human 
form, to destroy souls ? Again, could he but have for his 
object the petty sums of money collected from his dupes ? 
Why, had he stood on the high road, for half an hour, with 
a pistol in his hand, he might make himself master of more 
than he could collect from them in a whole life time. Or 
was he but the under agent, the base tool, the dupe himself, 
of men high in the world’s esteem, — high in office, magnates 
of the land, — marquises, dukes, “and a’tkat,” who adopted 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


131 


this plan to debase and weaken, still further, the people they 
held enslaved, until they could knead them like baker’s 
dough ? 

u What,” exclaims some honest, unsophisticated fellow, 
u you don't mean to say, seriously, that men, high in power 
and rank, would stoop to such baseness^ — would soil their 
hands, by touching so vile a tool?” Yea, do I faith. But, 
bless your innocent nose, their pure, aristocratic hands 
never came in contact with the plebeian tool. There 
was an electric chain of great length between them, whose 
links were composed of police spies, policemen, police offi- 
cers, toadies, magistrates, deputy lieutenants, attorney gen- 
erals, &c, &c. And the great man stood at one end, and the 
vile, leprous tool at the other. 

When Maloney took his departure, Mr. Casey woke up 
from his fox’s sleep. 

“ Barney,” said he, as he raked the ashes over some light- 
ed coals, u they’ve settled on O’Roarke’s business.” 

His grandson nodded. 

“ There’ll be a great reward entirely offered,” said Mr. 
Casey, peering from under his eyelids at his grandson. 

“ Hold your prate,” replied Barney, “ is it taking leave of 
your senses you are, to be talking about the likes ? ” 

At this moment a starved looking cat, which had met with 
some accident, crossed the floor, hopping on three legs, 
whereupon a large dog, who had remained after his master, 
jumped at the cat; but the latter, rearing suddenly up, 
struck the dog with his fore paw and sent him howling away. 

“ Well done, pussheen,” exclaimed Barney, rubbing his 
hands in great glee. “ Boccagh as you are, see if you 
didn't give the big bully the worst of if.” 

He then limped into the next room, with a malicious 
smile still parting his white lips. As he commenced to un- 
dress, a sudden turn he made, caused him a sting of pain. 
He placed his hands upon his hips and the smile gave place 
to a look of suffering; this, in its turn, to one of thought. 

« How well James Delany thought of asking for my back,” 
he said. “ Aye, I must be cautious ; not a hair of his head 
shall be touched.” 


132 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


/ 


CHAPTER XIII. 

In which the theory of sympathy is illustrated, its medici- 
nal POWERS TESTED, AND THE HAPPY RESULTS ARISING THERE- 
FROM. EDWARD VAUGHAN RETURNS TO HIS RESPECTABLE REL- 
ATIVE, BARTLY LYONS. 

Around the house of Dalystown, there is a still, gloomy 
look. The very air seems laden with sorrow. Men move 
about the yard silently, or speak in low tones as they pass 
to and fro. At times, messengers on horseback, are seen 
approaching the house by the rear entrance, and after mak- 
ing some enquiries of those in the yard, they turn their 
horses’ heads, and are soon again lost to sight. 

Country people too, on foot, the old and the young, the 
withered hag and the blooming girl, the old man, holding 
by the hand his little grandson, (the beginning and the end, 
and both so weak,) are seen wending their way to the house. 
For the most part, they make the same enquiries and receive 
like answers. 

Some retrace their steps, others of them remain about 
the yard, conversing in whispers, and a few enter at the rear 
of the house. 

Doctor Kelly sits by the bedside of Henry Daly, his 
fingers press the wrist of the young man. Suddenly a fright- 
ened expression comes to the face of the former; he lets go 
the wrist, places his hand over the heart, and stoops his 
head close to the mouth of the sick man. Slow, weak 
breathing meets his ear, and with a sigh of relief, he resumes 
his former position. As he did so, the door opened and a 
young girl entered the room. She was in the very blush 
of glorious womanhood. Her figure was tall, but its out- 
lines were concealed by a large traveling cloak. The strings 
of her bonnet were untied, and her black hair fell in wavy 
ringlets on each side of her face. But vain would it be for 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


133 


me to endeavor to portray the beauty of that face. Those 
who had seen it dyed with the blush of health might, per- 
chance, have deemed it still lovelier now, in its pale sor- 
row. The likeness of Rose O’Donnel, painted by a skillful 
artist, is now before me, and even he has failed. How could 
it be otherwise ? The colors have never blended on the 
painter’s pallet that could portray the living light of those 
liquid eyes. In his delineation of the beautiful mouth, with 
the red lips, slightly apart, through which the pearly teeth 
peep out, he has reached the highest perfection of his art ; 
yet he could give but one of the thousand lovely expres- 
sions that continually chased each other over those pliant 
lips, like the bright, tiny ripples of a summer lake, kissed 
by the setting sun ; the last even appearing more beautiful 
than the one which had preceded it. 

She moved with a quick step to where the doctor sat, 
and extended her hand to him, but her eyes were directed 
to the unconscious form on the bed. 

As she gazed, a look of anguish came to her features, her 
whole frame shivered, and a mist gathered before her sight. 
The old man, still holding her hand, led her gently from the 
bed to the window. 

“ Oh doctor, dear doctor,” she said, in a low, broken voice, 
“ how — how is he ? ” 

“ The crisis of the fever has come on, my dear child,” an- 
swered the doctor. “ When did you arrive, Rose ? ” 

“This moment,” she answered. 

“ Have you seen Mr. Daly ? ” 

“ No, one of the servants told me that he was in his 
study, but I expected to have found Emily here ; where is 
she?” % 

« Poor child,” replied Dr. Kelly, “I have cheated her to 
lie down, by promising to have her called in half an hour. 
She will be glad to see you, Rose.” 

“ But, doctor,” said the young girl, looking towards the 
bed, “is he so very bad?” 

“ He is, my child. He was weak and exhausted before 
the fever came on, else he would have been better able to 
go through the crisis. He is lying now twelve hours in 
that lethargic sleep.” 


134 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


“ Do yon think,” she asked, “ will he awaken soon ? ” 

“Yes, Rose,” he replied, “ if if, my poor child, he 

ever awakens. But a moment ago, an I I could not feel a 
pulse.” 

“ Oh God ! oh God ! ” exclaimed the young girl, in a sup- 
pressed agony of grief. 

“ Rose, my child,” said the doctor, “ you look terribly fa- 
tigued. Go and get some refreshment, and tell one of the 
servants to send the nurse here. I must go to Mr. Daly for 
a little.” 

“ Doctor,” she replied, “I will watch here, until you re- 
turn.” 

“You!” he exclaimed, “nonsense, Rose, you can scarcely 
stand upon your feet this moment.” 

“ Doctor,” she repeated, “ I will watch him.” 

“ My dear girl, your feelings are too excited,” answered 
the doctor. 

“ For the love of God, doctor, let me remain,” she said. 
“ Go, and I will wait your return. Dear, good Doctor Kelly, 
you will not refuse your poor old pet Rose, this one little 
request.” 

Thus pleading, she led the old man toward the door. 

“Well, well,” he said “ I cannot refuse you, Rose. I will 
be back presently, but if you see the slightest change, let 
me know of it at once, without waiting for my return.” 

As the old doctor went down the stairs, he shook his head 
sadly. 

“ Another heart,” he said to himself, “ with all the rich 
treasures of its youth, embarked in that poor sinking vessel.” 

Rose O’Donnel closed the door after him, and laying aside 
her cloak aftd bonnet, approached the bed. One could now 
see how admirably nature had adapted her form to her 
lovely face. A plain, dark dress, fitting closely to her fig- 
ure, and coming high up, covered her gently sloping shoul- 
ders and a bosom of perfect development. A black silk 
handkerchief was tied loosely round her neck, leaving a 
portion of it visible ; and one dark curl, as if enamoured of 
its whiteness, had strayed from its clustering companions, 
and rested upon it. 

Pushing back her hair, with her small white hands, she 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


135 


stooped down and gazed upon the face, that the dew of 
death seemed to be fast gathering over. As she did so, the 
pupils of her eyes dilated, and a scorching pain shot through 
her brain ; she felt her senses leaving her. Fortunately, 
tears came to her relief ; she fell upon her knees, and sink- 
ing her face in the white counterpane of the bed, she mur- 
mured : 

“ Heavenly Father ! oh, mercy ; spare him, oh, spare him.” 

She remained thus for several minutes, long after her lips 
had ceased to pray, for she dreaded again to look upon the 
face of her beloved. At length, with a shudder, she raised 
her head ; then stooping slowly down, she pressed her mouth 
to those cold clammy lips. 

What elixir of life was there in that sweet young breath, 
to recall the spirit, even as it was entering the dark portals 
of death, I know not, but as her mouth touched that of the 
sick man, a faint color, scarcely perceptible, came to his 
face ; a blue vein in the forehead gradually filled, and the 
eyes partially opened and again closed. 

Scarcely breathing, the young girl watched these signs 
of returning consciousness. Pale and weak, — for she now 
feared she might have incautiouslv disturbed him, — her 
limbs refused to support her, and she fell back into the chair 
the doctor had been sitting in. 

And now there is no sound in the sick room, save the 
beating of her own heart. Again the eyes open ; this time, 
almost fully ; and the lips slightly move. The young girl 
presses both her hands to her heart. How loudly it beats, — 
loud enough, she fears, to frighten him. Again the eyes 
close, again open. Ah ! this time there is a consciousness 
in their expression, as they become languidly fixed on Rose. 
Higher, higher, mounts the color to the face of Henry Daly ; 
his lips part, and a voice, so feeble and low, that it would 
be inaudible, save to the ear of love, whispers, “Rose.” 

The young girl answered not, but she softly pressed the 
hand that lay extended on the bed. A long sigh of relief, 
of happiness, came from the very depths of Henry Daly’s 
heart, and again his eyes closed. But this time, the color 
faded not from his face nor the smile from his lips. In a few 
moments, calm, full breathing told the loving watcher that 


136 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

he slept. With a noiseless step she crossed the room, stood 
for a moment at the door, listened, then, like an arrow from 
the bow, she sped along the corridor, down stairs, and enter- 
ed the study. 

Mr. Daly and Dr. Kelly hurried back with her to Henry’s 
room. The doctor placed his fingers on his patients wrist 
and listened to his breathing; then, with a joyous coun- 
tenance, he turned and caught Mr. Daly’s hand : 

“Give God thanks, Godfrey, my friend,” he said, “the 
crisis is past. Henry lives and will recover.” 

“ Why Rose,” said Mr. Daly, as the family met at break- 
fast, next morning, — (what a happy little party they were, 
to be sure) — “why Hose you are a fairy, a good, benevo- 
lent fairy. Cinderella’s godmother was nothing to you. 
You light amongst us in the darkest hour, bringing health 
on your wings, and all is light and happiness. 

“ Yery pretty, upon my word,” said Dr. Kelly. 

“Eh doctor,” said Mr. Daly, “ are you jealous, or what 
would you think of taking Kose into partnership.” 

“ She might not be so successful in general practice,” re- 
plied the doctor, opening his second egg, and givingRose a 
sly glance which sent the red blood to her face. 

“ You got my letter, Rose ? ” asked Emily. 

“Yes,” she answered, “but not for two days after I 
should have received it.” 

“ Letters, for which one cares anything about, are sure 
to go astray,” remarked the doctor, “ I never knew an attor- 
ney’s letter to miscarry.” 

“ On the same day that I got your letter, Emily,” contin- 
ued Rose, “I read in the papers an account of Henry’s duel 
with Mr. Brown, and I thought (here she again blushed) 
that you would like to have me with you.” 

“ You thought j^uite right, my dear girl,” said Mr. Daly. 

“ Indeed you did, Rose,” said Emily. And how did you 
like England ? ” 

“ I met with very kind people there,” she replied, “ but of 
the country itself, I saw but little, and I did not like a 
town life, I missed the green fields, and the flowers.” 

“ Anything else ? ” asked the old doctor archly. 

“Yes, doctor,” she replied, “I missed the dear friends 
amongst whom I had passed my life.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


137 


“You should never have left them, Bose,” said Mr Daly, 
warmly. But now that we have you back, we will watch 
you, and keep you from flying away from us again.” 

“Well,” said the doctor rising, “I must be off, I will be 
here again in the course of the day. You have nothing to 
do, but to keep Henry as quiet as possible, and to give him 
some light drink when he requires it. Youth and nature, two 
excellent doctors, when left to themselves, will do the rest. 
Edward, my boy, go and order out my gig, and you may 
drive it round yourself, until I see how you handle the rib- 
bons. A fine lad,” continued Dr. Kelly, when Edward had 
left the room. 

“ Oh, I do not know what we should have done without 
him,” said Emily, “ You can’t imagine, Bose, how affection- 
ately attentive and useful he has been during Henry’s ill- 
ness.” ^ 

“ Poor little fellow,” remarked Mr. Daly, “he has had a 
dull timeW it, since he came here, and I fear he must leave 
us soon.” 

“ Why papa ? ” asked Emily. 

“ I have received a letter from his uncle, my love, to that 
effect,” replied Mr. Daly, “I have not, as yet, answered it, 
but I will do so to-day, and beg, at least another fortnight 
for Edward. His attention to Henry, has completely won 
my heart, and I shall ever feel a deep interest in him ; he 
is, indeed, a noble-hearted boy.” 

“ Oh do write, papa,” said Emily. 

Presently Edward was seen passing the parlor windows 
seated in the doctor’s gig, and the latter, after renewing his 
directions and cautions, took his leave. 

“ Edward,” he said, as he stepped into his gig, “ I leave 
those two young girls within there, under your special 
charge, bring them out to walk. Egad, I envy you, you 
young dog, but you must be very strict with them, and see 
that they don’t chat Henry back into another fever.” 

“How can I prevent them, doctor ? ” asked Edward. 

“ By making love to them, you booby,” replied the doc- 
tor. 

“ Doctor,” said Edward jumping upon the step of the gig, 
and speaking in a whisper* “ the servants say, that it was 
Miss Bose O’Donnell and not you, that cured Henry.” 


138 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


44 Get down yon scamp,” replied the doctor, raising his 
whip. 

As Edward, with a laugh, jumped nimbly to the ground, 
the whip curled over his head, came down lightly on the 
horse, and away went the doctor, humming a very lively 
air, for so old a gentleman. 

From the cradle to the grave we are kept busy, burying 
our joys and sorrows, adding, each time we do so, another 
to that shadowy troop that walk with us through life. 

While Edward Vaughan was laughing with Dr. Kelly, 
Tom Gallaher arrived from the post-office, and when the 
former entered the house, with a light, happy step, Mr. Daly 
called him into the parlor. 

Godfrey Daly held an open letter in his hand, and as the 
boy entered the room, his eyes for a moment rested on the 
well known hand-writing, and then were raised*to Mr. Daly’s 
face, with the old frightened expression in them. It was 
the first time the latter had ever seen it, and he actually 
started, so changed was the boy’s whole coutenance by it. 

44 1 believe, Edward,” said Mr. Daly, 44 you already guess 
who this letter is from, and what its contents are.” 

44 My uncle has sent for me, sii*” replied the boy. 

44 Yes, he requires you to return home at once, as he says 
he cannot allow you to idle your time any longer. I am 
very sorry, Edward, to part with you so soon. This very 
day I was to have written to your uncle, asking him to al- 
low you to remain a liitle longer with us. He says you 
can return by the coach, but I will not permit you to do so, 
I will send my own gig and servant with you. I shall also 
write to your uncle, to say what a good boy you have been, 
and how you have endeared yourself to all of us.” 

While Mr. Daly was speaking, the boy struggled hard to 
command his feelings. He went to the open window; 
there were flowers beneath his eyes, while stretching be- 
yond was a fair landscape of green fields, trees, and water. 
And then there came to him, mixed with the perfume of the 
flowers, with the beauty of the landscape, recollections of 
that gloomy, musty home, to which he was returning, and 
the cold pitiless hearts which were there to receive him. 
Alas, the contrast was too great, and covering his face with 
both his hands, he gave way to an agony of grief. 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


139 


Mr. Daly was greatly moved. “God pity you, my poor 
child,” he said, “ and forgive those whose conduct has made 
the idea of returning to them so painful, but you shall soon 
come again to see us, Edward.” 

“ Oh no — no,” replied the boy, “ I should never have 
come, I had almost forgotten what happiness was.” 

Mr. Daly went over to him, and taking his hand, made 
him sit down, and sat down himself beside him. 

u I must scold you, Edward,” he said in a kind voice, “ for 
what you have just said; you are too young to say that you 
had almost forgotten what happiness was, for you meant by 
it, that you had given up all hopes of ever being happy 
again. You should not say so, my child ; you must remember 
that' He who strikes us down, can raise us up, and that He 
afflicts his own. You understand me, Edward?” 

“ Yes, sir,” he replied, “ I think I do.” 

“ Sooner or later, my child,” continued Mr. Daly, “ afflic- 
tions come to all of us. No state is free from them. They 
pierce through the robes of royaRy as well as through the 
beggar’s rags. A great affliction has befallen you, — the 
greatest indeed, that could happen to you, at your time of 
life. — I mean the loss of your parents ; and, perhaps, un- 
kindness on the part of those into whose hands you have 
fallen has made you feel that loss the more bitterly. In 
saying this, I do not wish to prejudice you against your 
uncle, and I only judge from what you yourself have told 
to Henry, believing that you would not be unjust.” 

“No sir,” replied the boy, “God knows I have not told 
half the cruel treatment I have received from my uncle and 
aunt.” 

“ Well, Edward,” continued Mr. Daly, “ tell me now, after 
you had lived some time with them, were you not inclined 
to suppose that all the people in the world were cold and 
unkind ? ” 

“ I began to think so, sir.” 

“Well, after you came amongst us, did you not change 
that opinion ? ” 

“ Oh yes, yes,” eagerly answered Edward, “ I never, nev- 
er will forget all your kindness to me.” 

“ Then you see how unjust you were,” replied Mr. Daly, 


140 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ and it has been most fortunate for you to have had an 
opportunity to get rid of this false idea before it had time 
to grow hardened and fixed in your mind. You have, Ed- 
ward, endeared yourself to us all, very much, since you 
came here. We all take the greatest interest in you. Let 
this show you that God can, when he pleases, raise up to 
you friends, not more willing, I hope, but far more capable 
of serving you. No doubt, my boy, but you thought, when 
first you came here, ‘ how happy these people are, oh, that 
I had so happy a home,’ yet, you see how quickly affliction 
visited us. How near I was, in my old age, to lose him who 
is its stay. How quickly this house, you thought so pleas- 
ant, was changed to a house of mourning ; yet, when all 
hope was almost gone, God, in His mercy, spared to me my 
son. Let this show you, Edward, that we all have our tri- 
als, and that it is to Him who sends them, we must look for 
help. Remember, my child, that without his power, you 
could not as much as move your finger ; without His knowl- 
edge, a hair cannot fall .from your head; without His will, 
naught can happen to you. And now listen to me. Go 
back to your uncle ; do your best to please him — he is your 
natural guardian, — and no person would wish to interfere 
between you. He is in a position to be able to advance 
you, and he may intend to deal kindly by you. The man- 
ners of some people are coarse like their natures, and some- 
times they are unconscious of wounding more sensitive 
minds, because, under like circumstances, they themselves 
would not feel hurt. But if, after a time, you feel it impos- 
sible to live happily wilh your uncle, I pledge my word to 
you, as a gentleman, that I will interest myself in your 
favor, procure for you suitable employment with some oth- 
er person, and until I do so, you shall have a home here.” 

The poor boy, carried away by joy and gratitude, threw 
himself upon his knees, before Mr. Daly, and poured out 
his thanks. 

The latter, lifting him up, said : u Tut, tut, Edward, we 
must never kneel to any, save to God. I would not,” he con- 
tinued, “ have made this promise, but that I feel convinced 
it will not prevent you from trying to please your uncle, 
but that I believe, feeling yourself not wholly dependent 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


141 


on him, will enable yon to give the experiment a fair trial.” 

“ I will indeed, sir,” replied the boy, “ do my very best 
to please him, but if ” He paused. 

“If, replied Mr. Daly, “ after you have done your duty, 
you find that he continues to treat you with unjust sever- 
ity, return here, as to a home.” 

Edward Vaughan was unable to reply, but taking Mr. 
Daly’s hand he pressed it against Ins lips. 

“ And now, Edward,” continued Mr. Daly, “ from the tone 
of your uncle’s letter, I think it best that you should return 
at once. We must give our experiment a fair trial, and 
begin by obeying him promptly.” 

“Very well, sir,” replied the boy, “shall I see Henry 
before I go ? ” 

“ Don’t you think, Edward,” answered Mr. Daly, “ that 
it is better you should not ? He is very weak, and the least 
excitement would throw him back.” 

“ Oh, sir, give him a thousand loves from me, and tell 
him, that — that ” — he was unable to proceed. 

“I will tell him, Edward,” said Mr Daly, “when he is 
able to hear it, what a land nurse you have been ; how un- 
tiring you have been in your attention, what comfort and 
assistance you have given to his sister and myself ; and 
Henry, is not one to forget such things.” 

“It is for me not to forget,” replied the boy. 

Emily Daly here entered the room; her father, showed 
her the letter from Lyons. 

“ You see, my dear,” he said, “anxious as we all are that 
Edward should remain a little longer with us, the tone of 
this letter obliges me to advise him to return this very day, 
but Edward leaves us with a brave heart, as I have just 
told him what you and I have been speaking of. 

“ Oh Edward,” exclaimed the young girl, “ I am sorry 
that you leave us so soon, but you must return, indeed you 
must, when Henry is strong and well.” 

The poor boy looked at her, but could not trust himself 
to say a word ; she took a gold locket, which hung from 
her neck, and handed it to him. 

“ Take this little keepsake, Edward,” she said, “ to pre- 
vent you from forgetting me.” He caught her hand and 


142 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


kissed it, then started and blushed, as if he had committed 
some great crime, but Emily, smiling, put her arm round 
his neck and kissed him affectionately. 

In two hours after this he started on his journey; his 
leave taking, indeed, occupied considerable time, Jor all 
the servants were included in it, nor were the dogs forgotten 
as he gathered, them around him before stepping into the 
gig, and patted each on the head. 

“ Master Edward,” said Tom Gallaher, who kept running 
by the side of the vehicle, as it ’proceeded down the avenue, 
“Master Edward, have you the book of flies I gave you ? ” 

“ I have, Tom.” 

“Well, keep practicing to tie them the way I showed 
you, you have plenty of grouse hackle and feathers in the 
book, and, Master Edward” — 

“ Well Tom, what is it ? ” 

“ Don’t mind avourneen one word, that old uncle of yours 
says to you, and take care would you be for letting him 
make an attorney av you.” 

“ It would be a murder all out,” soliloquised Tom as he 
stopped and looked after the retreating gig, af he was con- 
varted into a divil’s limb av an attorney. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

In which a conversation on marriage leads to a disclosure 

OF LOVE. 

What a boon health is ! No respector of person either. 
A true republican, by my faith, it passes by the pale face 
of the rich lady, and kisses the cheek of the peasant girl 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


143 


until she blushes in its presence. But oh, the exquisite de- 
light of returning health to the young! God of heaven, how 
beautiful does this earth you have given to us, then ap- 
pear ! How the lowliest flower is touched with the glo^y 
of your presence. At such a time the very consciousness 
of existence, is overflowing happiness in itself. 

Autumn’s leaves had fallen, ere Henry Daly arose from 
his sick bed, but what of that, there was spring in his heart; 
as, with Emily and Bose for his companions, they took 
short drives in and around the demesne. Sometimes in these 
excursions they alighted from their pony carriage and 
strolled through the wide park, resting, from time to time, 
on some rustic seat, and listening to the clarion notes of 
the knightly thrush, and the melancholy coo of the wood- 
guest in the adjoining plantations. At such times, a sub- 
dued j oy, closely allied to sadness, took possession of Henry ; 
he longed to throw himself at the feet of the beautiful girl 
beside him, and implore her, even with his tears, to love 
him, yet, he feared to scare away the bright bird ; better to 
content himself with the happiness which the music of her 
voice, the touch of her hand, the very sound of her footsteps 
brought to him. Other things, too, he thought of, which 
kept him from confessing his love, and each day as his 
strength returned to him, he found it easier to keep under 
command those feelings, so near betraying themselves dur- 
ing those delicious moments when the soft languor that 
sickness leaves after it was still upon him. As his strength 
returned, his father’s affairs engaged much of his attention ; 
the more he made himself acquainted with them, the stron- 
ger became his generous resolve, for a time at least, to 
forget self, and endeavor to ward off the difficulties that 
were fast gathering around his parent. Bose spoke not of 
leaving, and happy, at least, in her presence, he busied 
himself in looking over accounts, trying to collect outstand- 
ing arrears of rent, and to arrange, the tenants’ holdings 
on a plan likely to be more beneficial both to them and 
their landlord. In short, he was engaged in the most diffi- 
cult of all difficult tasks, endeavoring to disentangle the 
entangled web surrounding the affairs of an embarrassed 
Irish gentleman, while the attorneys (indefatigable spiders) 


144 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


watched from their holes to renew the meshes. Alas, poor 

fly ! 

Toil on, brave heart ! toil on, good son ? Now and then, 
you catch glimpses of a bright, sunny landscape beyond, 
"and happily seest not the dark clouds that are rising to 
shut it out from your view. 

When not engaged in business, Henry rode or walked 
with his sister and Rose, or read for them as they sat at 
their needlework. And then, what happy, quiet evenings 
were those, when the family met, at the close of day, in the 

old parlor of Dalystown. 

% * * * 

“ And the cares that beset the day, 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 

And as noiselessly pass away.” 

How cheerfully did the fire blaze in the ample grate, 
throwing a rich, mellow light upon the window curtains, 
which shut out the cold world without, from this their little 
world within. 

Mr. Daly, like most of his class, had an insuperable ob- 
jection to scanning minutely his affairs. When a difficulty 
arose, he looked to the readiest mode of meeting it, and 
the means adopted for this purpose were often those which, 
though they relieved him for the moment, were sure to ap- 
pear, at a future day, far more formidable than the diffi- 
culty itself. He knew that there were arrears of rent, to a 
large amount, due to him, and he was in the habit of cheat- 
ing himself with the belief, that as times got better, he 
would get this money. But a few weeks’ close investiga- 
tion into his father’s affairs, and the actual position of the 
tenantry, showed Henry the fallacy of this idea ; and, with 
a heart that bled for the pain he was inflicting, he laid be- 
fore his father a faithful, but depressing statement of their 
position. He knew well his father’s proud nature, — so indo- 
lent yet so sensitive,— that, even before his son, he felt hu- 
miliated by those painful disclosures. So while, with gentle 
plainness and truth, Henry laid before him the actual state 
of his affairs, he failed not to speak words of hope and en- 
couragement, which in truth, he was far from believing in 
himself. 

But though habit, education and circumstances had made 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


145 


Godfrey Daly indolent in money matters, his mind was too 
clear not to see at once the difficulties of his position, 
when laid before him, and the fallacy of almost all poor 
Henry’s plans. 

The evening of the day, then, which Mr. Daly and his son 
had spent in examining accounts, &c., &c., was sadder than 
those the family usually passed, when united after the day. 
Mr. Daly sat thoughtful and silent ; Henry seemed en- 
gaged with a newspaper ; Emily and Rose spoke in whis- 
pers, as they bent over some embroidery work, and the piano 
was untouched. A foreboding feeling, — a melancholy — op- 
pressed the little circle. 

Oh, Care ! can’st thou not leave some one spot on earth 
where the good, the pure, the sensitive, may take shelter, 
even for a little, from your frown ? 

“ I see by the papers,” said Henry, breaking through the 
silence that had become painfully long, “ that John Bodkin 
is married.” 

“ Indeed,” said Emily, “ and to whom ?” 

“ To a Miss Howard,” he replied. “ The paper states that 
he has got a large fortune.” 

“ Egad, Henry,” said Mr. Daly, looking up, “that’s what 
you must do, one of these days. In all our plans, we have 
completely overlooked this. I think” he continued, look- 
ing proudly and fondly at his son, “ you, too, may find a girl 
fool enough to have you. Don’t you think so Rose ? ” 

Poor Rose, she thought so indeed. But the stitches in 
her embroidery had, somehow, all gone astray ; and so in- 
tent was she on getting them to rights, that she did not 
hear Mr. Daly’s question. At least we judge so, for she did 
not answer it. 

Henry started, and his eyes hurriedly glanced to where 
Rose sat. “You would not wish to make a fortune hunter 
of me, father,” he replied. 

“No, no, Henry,” answered Mr. Daly, “they are a race 
that I have ever held in the greatest contempt. God for- 
bid I should see you married to one whom you could not love 
and respect; but fortune and good family are not incom- 
patible with these. It would be great happiness for me, to 
see you married. A happy, early marriage, I consider one 
10 


146 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


of the greatest blessings. The young, strong affections, 
fixed upon one object, are not frittered away. Contrasting 
my wasted youth, with the few brief, happy years of wedded 
life that were mine, I cannot help thinking how different 
the former might have been. But five short years,” he said, 
more to himself than to the others, “ five very, very happy 
years.” 

Then he fell to musing, and his thoughts partook of light 
and shadow, of the sunshine of life, of the darkness of the 
grave, and the conversation that Henry’s remarks had led 
to, was not again resumed. 

In the pleasure grounds of Dalystown, there was a taste- 
ful, and, withal, a very substantial summer house ; a rustic 
seat ran round it on the inside, and a rustic table stood in 
the centre. It was situated at one end of the grounds, and 
there was a walk leading from it to the lake ; in summer 
this was a favorite retreat of Emily’s, but it is neither of 
her, or the summer house I have now to treat, but of Rose 
O’Donnell who sits in it. There is a soft light in those li- 
quid eyes, the lovely lips part and close, the rich blood 
mounts to her face, and her bosom, over which her white arms 
are tightly pressed, rises and falls, as if her heart, surcharg- 
ed with love, panted to bestow its virgin treasure. But no 
sound escaped those lips, and after a little the light that 
filled those eyes melted into tears, which fell in big drops 
upon the withered leaves that rustled at her feet. Sorrow 
had subdued the burning fire of love, then pride, the earthly 
guardian of woman’s virtue, came to her aid. 

“Good family and fortune,” she murmured, while her 
hands unconsciously shut and opened. “ What dream is this 
I allowed to steal over me until those words awoke me 
from it? Oh why did I come back? Ah, did I not think 
that he was dying, and surely this love of mine would not 
have injured him in the grave, and who would love him in 
death as I ? But why did I remain, — why did I not fly be- 
fore those old dreams had again twined themselves around 
my heart, cheating me with their fond, delusive hopes ; 
but they are past. Beautiful 'shadows, you would teach 
me to stray from the paths of honor and gratitude. Oh, my 
God, thou sees’t how dark and thorny the one is I have to 
travel over,— strengthen my steps, my God.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


147 


After a little her feelings seemed to calm down, and are- 
signed melancholy look came to that face, over which so 
many of the wild passions of the human heart had just 
passed. “ Yes,” she murmured, “ I will fly from this place 
never more to return to it. Oh cruel fate, that makes me 
fly from that I love. 

A shadow darkened the doorway, she raised her eyes. 
Henry Daly stood before her ; Kose started, and, rising from 
her seat, would have passed out, but Henry, taking her 
hand said : 

“ Stay, Rose, I am after a long walk, and will rest a mo- 
ment in the cool shade, and then return with you to the 
house,” As he spoke, he led her back to the seat she had 
quitted, and sat down beside her. There was a hurried 
tremor in his voice which told Rose that the moment so 
long dreaded, so long hoped for, (oh the contradictions of 
onr nature,) had arrived. 

“Tell me, Rose,” he continued, “ and forgive me for ask- 
ing you, but when I lay in that trance, so like death, did 
you not bend over me, did I not feel your sweet breath ?”• — 

But Rose interrupted him, while her face and neck crim- 
soned With blushes. 

“ Henry,” she said, in a low voice, “ I thought that you 
were dying, you who have been to me a brother, — the only 
brother I ever knew, and — and” — 

“It was no dream, then,” he passionately broke in — “it 
was those loved lips that called me back to life. Life of 
my life, I offer you that which you have snatched from 
death, for the earth is colder, and darker than the grave 
without you. 1 know not,” he continued, “why, to day, I 
have sought you out to tell you this, — why, like a gambler 
I risk all on one cast, if it is not that the remarks my father 
chanced to make last night, have awakened me to the full 
knowledge of how your image fills my soul, how it yearns 
for your love. No wealthy suitor am I, Rose, offering to 
strew your path with riches and pleasure, but rather one 
who would ask you to share his struggles and his sorrows. 
The day is not far distant, when this old place, that has 
borne our name for many a year, may pass away to strang- 
ers. Misfortunes are crowding around us, Rose, therefore 


148 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


it is sorrow, mayhap, not joy, I ask yon to share with me.” 
Excited by his iove, and the gloomy thoughts that filled his 
mind, even as he confessed it for the first time, he arose, 
and standing before the young girl, continued — 

“ I am but a gloomy lover, Rose ; I thought not to woo 
you in such a fashion, but for days past something has been 
gathering over me, a dark night setting in around me, with 
but one bright, solitary star, thy love, my own, my beauti- 
ful Rose.” 

He would have thrown himself at the young girl’s feet, 
but she arose, and with a low cry, strangely partaking of 
anguish and of joy, threw herself on his breast. All those 
feelings she had invoked to her aid, all the fragile barriers 
she had placed around her heart, torn up, swept away, 
overwhelmed by the torrent of love that came rushing o’er 
her senses. With lip to lip, heart to heart, life and life 
blending together in one ecstatic trance of love, he holds 
her in his arms ! Oh ! the delicious delirium of that mo- 
ment when the love of the young heart is first confessed. 
Yes, hold her to thy heart, come weal or woe, sorrow, pov- 
erty, death, shame itself. You have quaffed the nectar of 
life’s golden cup, which man’s lips touch but once, and nev- 
er, while on earth, shall its fragrance pass away from your 
soul. Be you ambitious, and let your fame soar so high 
that states and senates shall bow down before you. Set 
your heart on riches, and toil until the glittering gold lies 
piled around you ; win glory in the tented field, or let 
poesy crown you with its laurel wreath, and beauty, enam- 
oured of your lay, come to you with witching gifts ; — fame, 
riches, glory, love itself, — yea, all the treasures of earth 
combined, could never bring to you again the spring tide of 
happiness that now fills your being. Hold her to thy 
heart, yet a little, for quick as the shadow on the dial such 
moments pass. Lo ! they are already fled! 

Pale, exhausted, trembling in every limb, Rose O’Donnell 
disengaged herself from her lover’s embrace. He would 
have again clasped her in his arms, but motioning him 
away, she sank upon the seat from which she had risen, 
and burst into tears. 

In a moment Henry was sitting by her side, his arm 
around her waist. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


149 


“ Why is this, my own beloved ?” he said soothingly. “ My 
own, my beautiful, — nay, look at me, dry these tears, dar- 
ling. It seems so strange to see thee weep, while my whole 
heart is filled with joy. And thou lovestme, Rose? Heav- 
en bless thee darling ; what, crying still ? Nay, I will begin 
to think thou repentest giving thy poor Henry that little 
heart. But I cannot give it back to thee, love, indeed I 
cannot.” He felt the form which he clasped shiver. 

“ How is this, Rose,” he said, “I have frightened you, love, I 
have been too boisterous in my happiness ; come, dearest, 
we will go to Emily, and tell her all. Think you she can 
love you a little more for my sake ? I fear not, Rose, she 
loves you so well already.” 

He drew her toward him, but suddenly started, and the 
fiery blood which had been coursing through his veins rushed 
back to his heart, as he saw the look of anguish that was 
on the lovely face now turned to his. 

“ If you did not know before, Henry, that I loved you,” 
said Rose, in a voice tremulous with emotion, “ at least, you 
cannot doubt it now.” 

“ Bless you, darling, for those words,” replied her lover; 

“ Oh, I know,” she continued, “ I have done wrong, very 
wrong, but God knows I would have gone and kept the 
secret burning at my heart.” 

“ Go, Rose ! ” 

“Yes, dear Henry. Oh ! Henry, listen to your poor Rose, 
while she has strength to say that which must be spoken.” 

“But, darling, surely, surely, I do not understand you,” 
he replied, “ you would not speak of leaving me,, when but 
this moment you have made me supremely blest.” 

“ Now, may God pity me,” said the poor girl. Then, after 
pausing for a moment, to collect her thoughts, she contin- 
ued in a firmer voice : 

“ Henry, I am an orphan. No kindred have I to love, or 
be loved by. From my very childhood your image has 
filled my heart. To me, nought on earth can be so beauti- 
ful as your love. No other love shall ever enter this hearts 
But there are other things, alas, not so sweet or lovely, but 
holier. They are duty, gratitude and honor. Oh, hear me' 
my beloved Henry, for a moment, without interrupting; me.. 


150 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


(for he had endeavored more than once to do so). Not two 
miles from this, Henry, almost within sight of the house to 
which you would bring me as your bride, there is a lonely 
churchyard, and in it a lofty monument, towering amid the 
lowly graves that surround it; as if those who placed it 
there v r ould fain deny that even death can level all distinc- 
tions between those of noble and of lowly birth. It is your 
ancestral monument, Henry, and close to it is a grave, 
whose tombstone records that it was erected by Godfrey 
Daly, in memory of a faithful servant; and, beneath it, lie 
the ashes of my father, — stay, stay, love, a little yet, I know 
what you would say, dear Henry. You would forget all 
this. In your eyes, it should be no barrier to our loves. 
But listen, dear Henry ; the master did more than raise a 
tombstone over his faithful servant. He took that servant’s 
orphan child, and became to her a father. She shared his 
home, his love, equally with his own children. Oh ! you 
would not have me,” she continued, with a heightening 
color, “ to be such an ingrate, as to bring sorrow to the heart 
of him who acted thus, or forgetful of that honest pride 
which should be equally the property of the peasant and 
the prince.” 

w But my father loves me too well, Rose, to destroy my 
happiness for this false pride of birth,” answered Henry. 
u He loves you too, Rose. Oh, you know him not,” 

“ Henry,” she replied, im I know 7 his noble nature well ; I 
know that he would sacrifice his own feelings, prejudices, 
happiness, for those he loves. But is it for me, the child 
of his bounty ; for you, the stay and pride of his declining 
years, to ask him to do so? Wrong not me, wrong not 
yourself, by such a thought. Nay more, dear Henry, what 
I have now said has been present to your own mind. It is 
this which has clouded your spirits, and saddened your 
voice, even as you proffered to me your generous love.” 

Rose was right. The objections she urged did not appear 
to him now for the first time, though he had endeavored to 
banish, rather than to dwell upon them. As she supposed, 
they had hovered around him, even as he confessed his 
love, and were absent only for that moment when her pent 
up love, breaking down all barriers, went rushing to his 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


151 


arms. Now he heard them echoed, as it were, by her who 
had just shown how great her love was for him ; and they 
fell upon his spirit like the knell of hope. As he stood, 
crushed, before the young girl, they two seemed to have 
changed their natures. She had gained strength, as she 
proceeded; her voice had grown firm, and there was a flush 
upon her cheek ; while he stood before her, pale, dejected, 
with his hand resting on the table for support. He took 
her hand gently between his own. “ Spare me now, Rose,” 
he almost whispered ; “ what you say may be all true. If 
so, I will endeavor, not to equal, but to imitate you. I can- 
not judge clearly now. But a moment ago, I thought the 
world very beautiful, and now, now — . But, Rose,” he ex 
claimed, in a hurried tone, “you will not leave us? Oh, 
God ! no ! — you will not do that, — you will not leave your 
poor Henry ; you wil] be a sister to him. Oh, speak to me, 
Rose, say, will not this be so ? ” He knelt at her feet. 
Poor Rose, she twined her fingers in his soft, rich hair, 
while her tears fell fast upon his face, turned up to her’s. 

“ Leave me now, dear Henry,” she whispered, u I cannot 
think, I cannot answer you now. Oh, my love, spare me, 
too. Go love, go.” 

As she spoke, she stooped down and kissed his forehead. 

Her lover arose ; for an instant he stood gazing upon 
her ; then catching her in his arms, he imprinted a burning 
kiss upon her lips, and the next moment she was alone. 


152 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER XY. ? 

A STUPID ONE ENOUGH. 

On the same day that Henry had confessed his love to 
Rose, old Doctor Kelly joined the family dinner party at 
Dalystown. His presence was a great relief to the lovers. 
Henry found it almost impossible to join in the general 
conversation. When spoken to, his answers were vague. 
Sometimes his looks waudered to where Rose sat, and when 
their eyes met, the hectic spot upon her cheek spread until 
neck and brow were suffused with blushes. 

Mr. Daly, engaged in conversation with the doctor, re- 
marked nought of this. Not so, the latter. By nature a 
keen observer, his profession had made him quick at read- 
ing, from outward signs, the hidden emotions of the heart. 
A few hurried, confused answers from Henry, and a glance 
at Rose, had enabled him to guess very near the truth, but 
his was too good and refined a nature to allow him to hint, 
even in jest, at the knowledge thus acquired. On the con- 
trary, he exerted himself to the utmost, to prevent others 
from observing their embarrassment ; and, while he chatted 
politics and country news with Mr. Daly, he kept up a run- 
ning fire of small talk and jokes with Emily. 

“ What spirits you are in to-day, doctor, to be sure,” said 
the latter. “For my part, I wonder you doctors can ever 
be so.” 

“ And why, pray ?” he asked. 

“ You see so much suffering and sorrow,” she replied. 

u Pooh,” said the doctor, “ there are two sides to the pic- 
ture. You know Tom Redington, Godfrey, he was married 
to a daughter of a tenant of yours, some years ago ?” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Daly, “ what of him ? ” 

“ He was knocked down by this fever that has been run. 
ning through the country,” replied the doctor, “ but after 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


153 


a hard fight he conquered it. I called to see him to-day, 
and found him weak enough still, sitting at his door, with 
one of his little children on his knee. k Well, Tom,’ said I, 
‘how do you get on?’ ‘Oh, bravely, doctor,’ he replied. 
‘ the blood is flowing through my heart once more, and it’s 
no wonder that it should, for a joyful sight met my eyes 
this morning, when I staggered to the door.’ ‘ What was 
it, Tom?’ I asked. ‘ Look at my oats there in the field, doc- 
tor,’ he replied, ‘isn’t it beautifully cut and stacked? Sure 
I needn’t tell you that I didn’t do it myself ; that I had 
neither hand, act, or part in the doing of it. But the neigh- 
bors came this morning, and before the lark was risen from 
the sod, they had it cut down, and before two o’clock, by 
reason of its being so ripe, it was stacked ; and they settled 
it, as you see it now, before leaving the field. They were 
afraid of the fever to come next or nigh the house,- but 
when they saw me at the door, they gave three cheers. Oh, 
doctor, I thought the sight would leave my eyes, and I felt 
bad entirely, for who do you think was the first in the field 
this morning, as Mary tells me? — the niver a one but Dan 
Sullivan, and he and I bitter enemies since we were gor- 
soons.’ ‘ How was that Tom V I asked. ‘ The never a one 
of me could tell you the right of it, doctor,’ he replied. 
‘There was an old grudge between our grandfathers and 
fathers, and we ever and always kept it up. Many a tussle 
we have had, at fair and market. He was a good boy, too ; 
an’ faith, he left me a mark I’ll have to my dying day. Many’s 
the time I longed to meet him, to try, over and over again, 
which of us was the better man ; but, doctor, I never longed 
to meet him so much as I do now, to take him by the hand, 
to ask him for his loyal love, and to let bygones be bygones 
between us. Mary tells me, doctor, that when she saw me 
on the mending hand, she began to think about the crop, 
and she had no hopes of saving it.’ 

“ ‘ Oh Tom, asthore,’ replied his wife, ‘ I was fretting 
about it, to be sure, but I never lost hope sure ; I knew 
that God was good.’ 

“‘True for you, Mary,’ replied her husband, ‘God is good, 
ever and always good, and if it was His blessed will to 
take myself and the crop from you and the children, he’d 


154 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


open some other door for you and them, praise be to His 
name.’ 

“ I assure you,” continued Doctor Kelly, “ hardened old 
fellow as I am, this little scene softened me, and gave me 
a store of contentment that will last me, 1 trust, a month 
at least.” 

“ How beautiful,” said Mr. Daly, “ is the reliance of the 
poor on the goodness of God.” 

“ Yes,” replied the doctor, “ the Bishops of London and 
Canterbury are, no doubt, learned and pious men ; so are 
the missionaries who supply the cannibal’s table with fresh 
meat. I am told that one of the latter will dispute points 
of theology with the savage who may chance to be basting 
him for dinner. Their brothers here, a degenerate race, 
who I am inclined to look upon as humbugs, may turn up 
their fat eyes at, what they style the ignorant idolatry of 
our poor, but when I start on my long journey, give me 
the beautiful, simple trust, which taught Mary Bedington 
that God is good.” 

After dinner the ladies rose to leave the room. 

“ Girls,” said the doctor, “I will soon follow you, I want 
to have a tune on the piano before I go, and since the 
country was proclaimed* I have to keep regular hours.” 

“ Doctors belong to the privileged class,” said Mr. Daly. 

u Yes, Papa,” replied Emily, when they are not suspi- 
cious characters.” 

The doctor shook his finger at her, as she left the room, 
and shortly afterwards joined her and Bose in the drawing 
room. When he entered, Emily was playing on the piano, 
and Bose sat at one of the windows. The old man went 
up to the latter, 

“I have a message for you, Bose, from my wile,” he said. 

“ For me, doctor ? ” said Bose. 

“ Yes,” she is awfully vexed at your never going to see 
her since your return ; she desired me to ask you if you 
waited for her to pay a formal visit.” 

“ Oh no, doctor, I am most anxious to go see her.” 

u And what is to prevent you, I should like to know ? 


* In a proclaimed district persons had to be in their houses at a certain early hour, after 
nightfall. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


155 


I shall tell you what you must do : Get Emily to drive over 
with you to-morrow, and if you want to make your peace 
with my wife, let me tell her that you are coming to spend 
a few days with her. Let this be so, Rose,” he continued, 
lowering his voice, “I wish to speak with you, my child.” 

Rose looked up into the old man’s face, and as she en- 
countered its intelligent and benign expression, she cast 
down her eyes and blushed, as she replied, “ I will go, 
doctor.” 

“ That is right,” he replied, in his usual cheerful tone. 
“ Emily, have you heard our arrangements ? ” 

“No, doctor, what are they?” 

“ Rose is going to spend a few days at the Grove with 
Mrs. Kelly, and you are to bring her over to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Emily, “ although I find I am not in- 
cluded in the invitation.” 

“ You — no indeed, I keep too regular a house to allow 
such a madcap to remain in it, besides my wife might grow 
jealous; she knows I am weak on dimples, and those are 
two beautiful ones you have, Emily.” 

“ Upon my word, doctor, you are geting quite gallant,” 
replied Emily. 

“ Do I not tell you I am always so when dimples are in 
question ? I call them Cupid’s sentry boxes.” 

God bless me,” he continued, after looking at his watch, 
“ I had no notion it was so late, I must be off. Mind, girls,” 
he said, as he shook hands with them, “ Mrs. Kelly will ex- 
pect you over to-morrow, and now, good night.” 

“ Good night, doctor,” each of them answered. 

To me there is something very beautiful in the unreserved 
confidence of two pure, innocent-minded, young girls. That 
night, before retiring to rest, Rose acquainted Emily with 
all that had taken place during her interview with Henry. 
With quickened pulse, downcast eyes, and burning cheeks, 
she told how love had betrayed her, and as she did so, sit- 
ting in that quiet chamber, her own words frightened her, 
and maidenly reserve, taking up arms against her, made 
her weep for her weakness. Yet, how earnestly, how truth- 
fully she pleaded that she was unconscious of the force of 
that love, of the weakness of the barriers she had placed 
around it. 


156 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Then, with a proud lip, she told how she had rejected 
Henry’s suit ; that if, for a moment, love had betrayed, duty 
and honor had come to her aid, and as she spoke, how wist- 
fully she ever and anon looked at Emily. Oh ! if the latter 
could but say, 44 Rose you magnify the obstacles that are 
between you and Henry, there is yet room to hope,” how 
quickly that proud lip would quiver, and soften into love. 
But Emily could not do this, and when Rose had ceased 
speaking, she could but fold her in her arms, and endeavor 
to sooth her excited feelings. 

After a little while, Rose remarked, 44 and was it not 
thoughtful and kind of Dr. Kelly, to ask me over to the 
Grove ? Oh, I am so glad to go just now.” 

“ Why, Rose, does the doctor know anything of this ?” asked 
Emily. 

“Not from me,” replied Rose, “but I am sure he has 
guessed it. How I do not know for I saw him during din- 
ner, looking at Henry, and then at me. And when he gave 
me the invitation, he stooped down and said, in such a 
meaning, fatherly tone, 4 do come Rose, I want to speak 
with you.’ Oh, he knows it, I am very sure.” 

44 I am very glad to think that he does,” replied Emily. 
“ He is so good and wise, and takes such an interest in us 
all. I have often heard papa say, he would sooner take his 
advice than that of any other person whom he has ever 
known. His nature, too, like my Uncle Toby’s, ever beckons 
the unfortunate to take shelter near him.” 

44 He has known sorrow, too, Emily,” said Rose. 

44 Yes,” replied Emily, “a great sorrow ; the same which 
poor papa has just escaped, the death of an only and be- 
loved son. Oh ! can we be ever grateful enough to God,” 
continued the young girl, clasping her hands , 44 for sparing 
Henry to us ? What would have become of papa had he lost 
him? Nor would we have had the consolation that Dr. 
Kelly has, for his son lost his life in the cause of humanity, 
while Henry” — — Emily paused with a shudder, as the 
danger her brother had lately escaped from came to her 
mind, and for some time afterwards both girls sat silent, 
each troubled with sad thoughts ; at length the fire falling 
in the grate, filling the room, for a moment with a ruddy 
light, and then leaving it in darkness, aroused them. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


157 


Emily arose, and, going to the table, lighted a candle, for 
they had been conversing by the pleasant light of the fire. 
Looking at her watch, she exclaimed, “ how late it is, dear 
Rose ; I have been dreaming all kind of sad things, until I 
have grown, oh, so nervous. It is time, love, we should go 
to rest.” 

Rose raised her beautiful head; her face was sad, but 
composed ; what she had hoped and feared for had come 
to pass ; she and Henry had confessed their loves, and for 
a moment they had tasted the bliss of that confession. 
The trial she had then passed through brought to light and 
developed the strength of her nature, and a few hours 
had changed the timid, dreaming, loving girl into the self- 
possessed, self-sacrificing, truthful woman. As she looked 
up she was struck with the pallor of Emily’s face. 

“What is the matter, dear?” she said, “you have been 
weeping.” 

“ I do not know, Rose,” replied Emily, “it is very fool- 
ish of me, but I have had such foreboding thoughts — a 
dread of some great misfortune about to happen. Do you 
believe in such things, Rose ? ” 

“ I suppose we all do at times,” answered her companion, 
“ but I have made you nervous, love, with my selfish sorrow, 
and it is that which has given you those sad thoughts ; but 
all will be well, Emily. Henry, in time, will forget this 
love, he will be happy in knowing he has done his duty, 
and x — .J Emily,” she continued, with a faint smile, “ am no 
heroine of romance, to pine and mope, making every one 
around me unhappy, but a plain, country-bred girl, with a 
great deal of love in my heart, and, I trust, a little common 
sense to keep it from running away with me.” 

“ You are a good, sensible girl, Rose,” replied Emily, 
“ and always had more sense than most girls ; I never was 
in love or had a lover, but I think, had I such a one as 
Henry, it would break my heart to part with him.” 

A look of anguish passed over Rose’s face, but so quickly 
had it come and gone that it was unnoticed by her friend, 
and her voice was almost cheerful as she replied, 

“Never had a lover, Emily! Then to-night we shall 


158 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


speak no more of love or lovers. And now tell me what 
hour you will accompany me to the Grove ? ” 

“ Then you wish to go to-morrow ? ” 

“Oh yes, Emily; indeed I should have gone to see Mrs. 
Kelly before this.” 

“ Well, then, after breakfast I will be at your service,” 
replied Miss Daly. 

Little more passed between the two young friends until 
they retired to rest. 

Kose slept well that night, and her’s were happy dreams, 
for, at times, a sweet, childlike smile parted her red lips. 
Oh, Sleep ! 

“Well, sir, what are you going to say about it? Some 
more nonsense to fill your book? Pish.” 

“Dear sir, have you ever redd Jacob Faithful? Well, 
then, take it cool. I was only about remarking that sleep 
is a very excellent, refreshing thing, if you do not take it 
lying on your back, after eating a good supper, ancl I fear 
me, you have a weakness for the latter. But you have 
been pishing at my poor book the half hour past.” 

“ Yes, sir, because I hate all this twaddle about love, — 
love. Pish, humbug.” 

“ Nay, by my word, you are in error, worthy sir. Love is 
not a humbug. It has been on the earth, ever since Adam 
awoke in the garden, and seeing Eve, exclaimed, ‘ she is 
bone of my bone.’ And, despite crinoline and hoops, it 
will be still on earth, when you and I and the three-and-a- 
half-per-cents in England, and the bank porter, and the 
bears and stags of Wall Street, and Wall Street itself, shall 
have crumbled into dust. Nay, more, practical, matter- 
of-fact, respectable, smart man that you are, you have been, 
all your life, as blind as a mole ; and as you toiled forward 
to reach that golden tree, whose bitter fruit is guarded by 
thorns which lacerate the heart, oh fool that you were, you 
have been trampling on flowers, the least one of which was 
worth a 4 wilderness of monkeys,’ and a world of eagles.” 

“ Drat the man, he is as mad as Don Quixote, when he 
mistook windmills for giants. Why, papa has never opened 
his book. Ah, is me, who doubts that love exists ? But 
what can he know of the sweet delirious passion, who makes 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 159 

his heroine, if she deserves the title, as matter of fact as a 
washerwoman ?” 

“ Dear lady, suppress your censure and your crinoline for 
a few moments, and let me sit down by your side, while I 
confess I can see no earthly reason why your own washer- 
woman (by the by, she has put a spot of iron mould on this 
lace collar.) should not, years ago,— long before she had left 
her father’s humble cottage, — have felt this kind of love, 
which I have so weakly endeavored to portray. Because 
it was a fine, healthy love, very unlike that which is crea- 
ted in hot ball-rooms, by the delicious schottische, and requir- 
ing not the adjuncts of remorseless fathers, hysterics, and 
smelling salts. It was a love, growing from childhood, in 
two young hearts. A thing so pure and holy, that were it 
not still of earth, it might have mingled with the breath of 
angels, as they sung before the throne of God. 

Next morning, at breakfast, Emily acquainted her father 
with Rose’s intention of going to spend some days at Doctor 
Kelly’s. 

“ What, Rose,” said Mr. Daly, “ going to spirit yourself 
away again ? ” 

“I have not been to see Mrs. Kelly sir, since my return,” 
she replied, “ and the doctor asked me, last evening, to go 
over.” 

“ Oh it is but right, my child,” replied Mr. Daly, “ that 
you snould spend a few days with the old lady, and you 
would be no pet of the doctor’s if you neglected doing so, 
but I advise you, Rose, while you remain at the Grove, to 
wear very old clothes ; you will have to play several games 
of romp with the young people. You, of course, they will 
seize upon, as their lawful vassal, as I assure you nothing' 
but my incompetency saved me the last time I was over 
there.” 

« Indeed, sir,” said Rose smiling. 

“ Yes indeed,” continued Mr. Daly. “ I happened to take 
a stroll into the garden, where I found little Fred, making 
hieroglyphics on one of the walks ; he came up to me and 
surveyed me from head to foot; he was evidently examin- 
ing whether or not I was too old and stiff for a game. With a 
deep sigh, he had just settled, in his own mind, that I was 


160 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


past service, when his brother Charles entered the garden. 
Away scampered the little fellow to meet him, at the same 
time pointing back to me, and exclaiming, as he ran along, 

“I say, Charley, do you think he could play scotch-hop ?” 

As it usually happened, before breakfast was over, Tom 
Gallaher was seen returning from the post-office. Oh that 
weary mail bag which Tom was so proud of being intrusted 
with ! Poor fellow he would have filled it with diamonds, 
for his master, had he power to do so. Yet Tom shrewdly 
suspected that he was not always the bearer of welcome 
news. In fine weather, Mr. Daly, was in the habit of meet- 
ing him before he reached the house, and taking out any 
letters that might be in the bag. Now, Tom could neither 
read or write, or distinguish one hand-writing from anoth- 
er, but he could read his master’s coutenanee, and as Mr. 
Daly glanced at the superscriptions of his letters, Tom 
would scan his face, and afterwards be able to answer to 
the cook (whose long service in the family, entitled her to 
confidence in family matters,) what kind of news he was 
after bringing from the post-office. He had a manner, too, 
of judging a letter by its shape, size and fold, and Henry 
Daly’s letter he could pick out from a thousand. 

All unconscious was Tom that he committed a fault in 
thus prying into his master’s affairs ; nor in truth did he, for 
he had no individual identity; he was but the shadow of his 
master’s fortunes. There was no meum for poor Tom, it 
was all tuem. If he saw a fine horse, he wished it was 
Mr. Henry’s, If he heard that a gentleman had come in for 
a large fortune, he wished such luck had fallen to the mas- 
ter, and I verily believe, had one asked him why he did 
not wish it for himself, he would not have understood the 
question, or, most likely, would answer, “ sure it’s all the 
same to wish it for the master and if Tom did make a con- 
fidant of the cook, my readers must not suppose that he 
was influenced, in any way, by the patronage, which her 
delicate position to the larder, left in her hands. No, 
though the cook might resemble the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, honest Tom Gallaher in nowise resembled 
those honorable gentlemen who lie, and fawn, and grovel, 
and pimp around government larders. But, to use Tom’s 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


161 


own words, “wasn’t she born and bred in the family, and 
own nurse to Miss Emily besides ?” This morning Mr. Daly 
met Tom near the hall door, there was but one letter, and 
the latter eyed it suspiciously, as his master opened it. 

“ The curse of Cromwell on you, for one bag,” said Tom, 
as he hung it up in the harness room. Faith, af I was the 
master, I’d let you hang there, until you got greenmowlded, 
and let the dirty letters find their own way, or let it alone. 
The dickens a one of me can understand it at all at all. The 
devil a quarer thing ever I seen, than to be sending for 
what vexes and troubles a body when it comes.” 

Mr. Daly returned to the parlor with an open letter in 
his hand, which he handed to Henry. When the latter had 
read it he said : 

“ I have made preparations for this, sir. The tenants on 
Murry’s farm have promised to pay a portion of their rents 
to-day, so I will ride over there.” 

“ You are doing wonders, Henry,” said Mr. Daly, bright- 
ening up. “ I think, Emily, he has got to be such a man ol 
business he will revive the fortunes of our old house, and 
atone for the culpable follies of those who have preceded 
him ; my own, not the least amongst them.” 

Mr. Daly had commenced in quite a cheerful tone, but 
his voice was sad ere he concluded. Henry looked at Hose. 
There was a fine calmness in the beautiful eyes that met 
his, which came to his spirit like “ refreshing waters.” He 
arose, and leaning on the back of his sister’s chair said: 

“ Father, your children will have no compliments paid to 
them, at your expense. I speak for Emily and myself, when 
I say that were we to toil through a whole long lifetime, 
having no reward but to see you happy, your being so 
would be reward enough. Nor would such toil repay you 
a tithe of the tender love you have bestowed upon us.” 

“ And papa knows all this very well,” said Emily, going 
up to her father, and raising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. 

A tear glistened in the old gentleman’s eye. “ Here is a 
conspiracy, Kose,” he said, “ to make an old fellow happy, 
which should not be pardoned ; for you know that they are 
very, very old offenders.” 

Just then a servant entered the room with a message 

11 


162 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


from the groom who wished to know if Henry intended 
riding out that day. 

“ I think I will ride Fox over to Murry’s” said Henry, “ he 
is getting too much idleness.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the servant, “ that’s the reason the 
groom sent me to ask you. He says that the horse wants 
a little work.” 

“Well, James, have him saddled and brought round,” 
replied Henry, “ and he shall have some.” 

u Of course you will cross the country,” said Mr. Daly, 
“ as you ride Fox. Be home then, in good time ; for, take 
an old hunter’s advice, and never put your horse at a fence 
unless he has good light to measure his distance.” 

Long after Fox was led round, Henry Daly delayed his 
departure, expecting that Bose might give him an opportu- 
nity of speaking with her ere she left. He knew, of course, 
that she was but going to the Grove for a few days ; yet there 
was a vague fear in his heart, that she might not return ; 
and he wished to tell her that if she would but remain with 
them, this would content him, for many a long day, at least. 
Bose, perhaps, guessed what was passing in her lover’s 
mind, and her woman’s nature made her see its fallacy. 

They had passed the Bubicon, that divides sweet dalli- 
ance from love confessed, and entered on the battle field, 
where to remain, was to be vanquished. Not, indeed, that 
she had any fixed plan for the future, but she determined 
to confide all to Dr. Kelly, and to be guided by him. Until 
she had |done so she purposely avoided giving Henry an 
opportunity of speaking with her in private, lest either 
might be tempted to make some promise which would sub- 
sequently but add to the tangled web circumstances had 
woven around them. 

At length Mr. Daly grew anxious, that Henry should 
take his departure, lest he would have to return by night. 
The old gentleman had taken several turns to and from the 
window, and standing there now, he said : 

“ Henry, Fox is becoming impatient to have his master 
on his back ; see how he paws up the sand.” 

Then leaning out of the window, he addressed the horse. 

“ So ho, boy, are you afraid, if your master remains much 
longer, he will have to be giving you some road work? ” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 163 

“ Surely Rose,” said Henry, in a low voice, you are but 
going to Dr. Kelly’s?” 

“That is all indeed, Henry,” she replied. 

“ And you will return in a few days ?” 

“ I intend to do so.” 

Mr Daly, having drawn in his head from the window 
heard this last question. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ I have but given Rose, one week to stay 
away from us ; if she does not return at the end of that 
time, I will go for her myself.” 

“ Well,” thought Henry, as he vaulted into the saddle, 
“ there is nothing to prevent me from going over to the 
Grove to morrow.” And so thinking, he set spurs to Fox, 
and was soon out of sight. But after a short burst of speed, 
he slackened his pace to a walk and the reins fell listlessly 
on his horse’s neck. 

Quickly as Henry had taken his departure, Rose retired 
to her room, which commanded a view of the park. With 
straining eyes, she watched the form of her lover until it 
was lost to sight. Then, she was no longer, the self-pos- 
sessed, heoric woman, but the weak, fond girl, and cover- 
ing her face with her hands, she wept as if her heart would 
break. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

In which the reader is made acquainted with doctor kel- 
ly’s FAMILY, HIS DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS, AND WITH 

many of his absurd, old fashioned ideas. 

While Emily and Rose are preparing to set off for the 
Grove, I will introduce the reader to Dr. Kelly’s family. It 


164 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


consisted of his wife, a lady some years younger than her 
husband, and four grandchildren, the eldest of whom was a 
boy about ten, and the youngest, a little girl, scarcely five 
years of age. These were the children of his deceased son, 
whose death Emily had alluded to in her conversation with 
Kose the previous evening. He was the only one of a nu- 
merous family who had survived the years of childhood, 
and in the promise which his youth had given, it seemed as 
if his parents would, in a measure, be compensated for the 
loss of their other children. At an early age he graduated 
at Trinity College, Dublin, and then commenced his studies 
for the medical profession. While walking the hospitals, 
(as it is termed,) his talents and the skill displayed by him 
in a critical surgical operation confided to his care, brought 
him under the notice of the then leading members of the 
medical profession in the Irish metropolis, and on taking 
his degree he was invited to become resident surgeon in 
one of the hospitals. Here he soon distinguished himself 
both as a lecturer and an operator. How the old man’s 
eyes would glisten as he read of some successful operation 
performed by his son ! 

u Egad, Mary,” he would say to his wife, “ I must brush 
up. The puppy will be down here one of these days, puz- 
zling me with some of his new theories.” 

In two years after taking his degree, young Doctor Kelly 
commenced private practice. Shortly after this, he married, 
and in six years he found himself at the head of a very ele- 
gant elegant establishment, with fair hopes of ranking, in 
time, amongst the most distnguished members of his pro- 
fession. “ But the ways of God are not the ways of men.” 
About this time, that great scourge of Ireland, (among her 
many other scourges,) typhus fever, broke out, in its most 
violent form, in Dublin. Doctor James Kelly was untiring 
in his attendance on the poor, both in their houses and in 
the hospitals. At length his overtaxed strength gave way, 
and he himself was stricken with the disease. When the 
news reached his father, the latter posted up to Dublin. 
Those were not the days of railroads, and Thought had not, 
as yet, packed his carpet bag, to go a riding with Miss Light- 
ning. He found the young wife in close attendance on her 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


.165 


husband ; she would let no other hands but her’s minister 
to his wants. Much as her friends feared for her, no earth- 
ly power could induce her to swerve from her duty ; and 
for a time her love sustained her. But the fever plague 
breathed upon her, and within six weeks from the time doc- 
tor Kelly left home to attend on his son, he returned, bring- 
ing with him four orphans, two of whom were carried in the 
arms of nurses. Holding a hand of each of the others, the 
doctor alighted from the carriage in which he had traveled, 
and advanced to the house, on the doorsteps of which, his 
wife, with ashy cheeks, waited to receive them. Two young 
servant girls supported her on either side, sobbing forth from 
time to time, “ God comfort you, poor mistress.” The old 
man went up to his wife. “ They are both dead, Mary,” he 
said. Then, as if aroused by the sound of his own voice* 
he let go the hands of the children, and clasping the faint- 
ing form of his wife, exclaimed, in impassioned tones : 

“ Oh wife of my heart, and woman of many s«x;’ows,pray 
to God for strength ; for see, see, He has still left us work 
to do on earth.” 

And He, in whose chastisements there is ever mercy, did 
give them strength. The children of their youth, seemed 
restored to them, in these beloved orphans ; and the calm 
sunset of life presaged a glorious morrow. 

In worldly wealth, the doctor had no cause for uneasi- 
ness. His landed property, which came to him by inherit- 
ance, gave him an income of over six hundred pounds a 
year, and an extensive practice had enabled him, from time 
to time, to lay up considerable sums of money. For some 
years before his introduction to the reader, he had given up 
practice, except among the poor and a few families whom, 
he alleged, would not allow themselves to be killed by any 
other doctor.” 

I know not, but that in speaking of the family at the 
Grove, I should include the servants, for, most assuredly, in 
all family arrangements, not alone did the doctor study 
their comforts, but he also took a deep interest in their 
welfare. Most of them had spent the greater portion of 
their lives in his service, and he remembered pretty well 
having been punished by his father for the want of' proper 


166 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


dignity displayed by him in playing marbles with the now 
grey-headed old butler, who stood daily behind the doctor’s 
chair, enjoying the latter’s jokes so exceedingly while he 
stood there, and repeating them with such gusto, after- 
wards, in the servants’ hall. But it did not require a life- 
long service, to make the doctor feel an interest in those 
who daily ate his bread, and ministered to his wants ; he 
had been known, on several occasions, to take an active 
part in the marriages of young housemaids of not more 
than two or three years’ standing. Neither did he or Mrs. 
Kelly see anything very horrid or ungrateful in a pretty 
girl’s falling in love, and parting both with herself and 
them at the same time ; on the contrary, foolish old couple, 
that they were, they thought it quite natural and right. So, 
on such occasions, the doctor was wont to ask the priest to 
dinner, and have the young people married in his own 
house, (“It will give the girl respect in the eyes of her 
husband’s friends, Mary,” the doctor would remark to his 
wife, “ and save the poor things the money that they will 
require for housekeeping,” he himself giving the bride away, 
having previously made her a handsome present. Then fol- 
lowed much dancing in the parlor and in the servants’ hall, 
and the doctor retired to bed about twelve o’clock, very hot, 
very tired, and very happy, while a thousand blessings hov- 
ered around his pillow as he slept. 

He rises refreshed, at early morning, having thought of 
a little plan for the benefit of the young couple, and he 
cannot rest until he has informed them of it. So he sends 
the boy, whom he meets driving the cow into the yard, 
down to Pat Lynskey’s, to see “ if the fellow is awake yet,” 
and to tell him, that he, the doctor, wants to speak to him. 
With a a broad grin on his face, the boy scampers off, and 
presently the bridegroom appears, looking very bashful, 
and sheepish. After a little innocent bantering, the doc- 
tor commences to speak to him very seriously, and then in- 
forms him of the plan he has formed. 

The man hurries home to his young bride, to tell her all 
that the doctor is going to do for them. And then another 
host of blessings, fresh and pure as the morning air which 
bears them, is wafted to the old man as he stands in his 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 167 

lawn, and, kissing his cheek, sends him into the house with 
a very keen appetite for breakfast. 

From all this it must be inferred, that on a vacancy occur- 
ring in the doctor’s establishment, there were many appli- 
cants. But, in selecting from those, he never interfered 
with Mrs. Kelly, and that good lady prided herself not a 
little on the happy selections she almost invariably made. 
But the truth was, they were not a whit better than the 
generality of their sisters on entering the doctor’s service ; 
it was the kind treatment they met there that made them 
so afterwards ; they found themselves no longer walled off 
from all sympathy with those above them in station. Per- 
haps it was the doctor’s medical knowledge which enabled 
him to discover that Lady Betty Ponsonby’s maid had feel- 
ings and nerves, and the senses of taste and smell, in com- 
mon with Lady Betty herself. So when she was dismissed 
by her ladyship and refused a character, on account of object- 
ing to wash a little, nasty French poodle, the doctor spoke 
in her favor to Mrs. Kelly, and the latter engaged her as 
maid to her little grandchild, Fanny ; and the girl afterwards 
was in the habit of saying that there was as much differ- 
ence between her then present mistress and Lady Betty, as 
between the nasty poodle and blue-eyed Fanny. 

Now all this made some families in the neighborhood 
(who starved their servants, on board wages, driving them 
to acts of petty larceny, to support nature,) declare : u That 
Doctor Kelly was enough to ruin all the servants in the 
world.” And they looked upon the contented, jolly-look- 
ing servant who drove the doctor’s gig, as a kind of red- 
republican ; and dreaded his entering their houses, lest his 
very appearance would cause a revolution, in their little 
despotic governments. 

Here I take the liberty of offering some advice to my 
bachelor readers, one and all. If you find yourself inclined 
to fall in love with a young girl, before you are gone too 
far, and while you still retain a portion of your senses, re- 
mark how she treats the servants in her home, and how they 
seem to feel towards her. If you find her overbearing to 
those below her in station, oh ! slide ! slide ! ! slide !! ! It is 
the fashion, now-a-days to give prize pictures, &c., &c. I 


168 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN* 


have no such things to bestow, but I give the following 
prize truth, instead : 

The girl who is disliked by servants will never make a 
home happy. 

“ But, sir, I love Angelina, and though her fine, haughty 
nature causes her to be disliked by the class you mention, 
still I love her.” 

“ Ah, your case is hopeless, my friend. Let’s see now, — 
have you paid for this book ?” 

“ Yes, sir, I have.” 

u Very good, then go and hang yourself.” 

“ Hang myself, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, you may as well do it now, in a quiet, decent 
way, as to be making a fuss about it, after you get married.” 

“ But, sir,” exclaims another of my readers, for I have 
them of all classes, (oh, glorious and pocketfying idea,) my 
Sophy never had a servant.” 

“ Give me your hand, old fellow, marry her, marry her at 
once, most likely she wants one.” 

But though Doctor Kelly could manage his domestic es- 
tablishment as he pleased, without any one presuming to 
interfere with him, his conduct, in other matters was highly 
culpable, and well deserving the censure of an enlightened 
community. It showed too, that for a well informed man, 
in most things, he was shamefully ignorant of political 
economy, which noble science, Lord John Bussell brought 
to such perfection, in after years, that by a strict regard to 
its principles, he was enabled, in the face of a Christian 
world, without shedding one drop of blood, to murder over 
half a million of human beings. 

u Did he go to the gallows, sir ?” 

“ No sir, he went to church, and sang the doxology.” 

Indeed, I believe the doctor was a little sore about his 
ignorance in this matter ; for, being pressed one day on the 
subject, by a philanthropic gentleman, who had a plan for 
making stone soup for the poor, the doctor lost temper, and 
consigned political economy to the lower regions. 

He had, actually, a staff of poor pensioners, men and 
women, ( Vagrants , — Victoria , chapter 105, verse 49, amen,) 
who dined at the Grove, every Sunday, as regularly as the 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


169 


doctor himself. They sat on the porch, outside of the kitch- 
en, where a servant brought to them their dinners ; but 
when the weather was cold, they were allowed into the 
house. Nor was this levee of the poor confined to estab- 
lished pensioners ; any of the numerous poor who traveled 
about the country, attending fairs, markets, races, &c., &c., 
that chanced to be in the neighborhood of the Grove on 
Sunday, attended, “and had their claims allowed.” 

“ I am credibly informed, sir,” said the rector, addressing 
Doctor Kelly, who made one of a group of gentlemen just 
then discussing the increase of pauperism in the parish, “ I 
am credibly informed, sir, that it frequently happens, a num- 
ber of strolling beggars will come into the parish, on Fri- 
day, and stay over Saturday, for the purpose of going to 
your house on Sunday.” 

“ What of that, my dear sir ?” replied the doctor. “ Do you 
give them their dinners on Saturday, let them come to me 
on Sunday, and the matter will be arranged.” 

And away went the old man, chuckling to himself. Was 
there ever such an obstinate, wrong-headed old fellow as 
this Doctor Kelly ? 

Go thy ways, old man, thou wilt yet be sitting down with 
some of these outcasts at the heavenly banquet, prepared 
for such as you, when Lord John Kussell and political econ- 
omy, ( Victoria , chapter 105,) and poor law commissioners 
are “God knows where.” 

When Rose and Emily arrived at the Grove, Doctor Kel- 
ly was from home, but they found Mrs. Kelly in her draw- 
ing room. 

As I have before mentioned, she was some years younger 
than her husband; yet her face had more of the marks of 
age about it. It was thin and pale, with deep lines under 
the eyes; yet the eyes themselves were soft and gentle, — 
the very opposite to that hard, twinkling expression that we 
sometimes see with the old. Her nose was straight and 
high ; her mouth well formed, with teeth as white and per- 
fect as in youth. She wore her own grey hair, rolled back 
from her forehead and confined by a neat cap. Her gown 
was rich and well fitting, but every portion of her dress was 
free from those gaudy colors which would but have mocked 


170 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


her pale cheek, and slightly bent form. Altogether, her 
appearance was pleasing and dignified, her manners gentle 
and ladylike. She kissed the two young ladies with great 
affection. 

44 1 had a scolding prepared for both of you,” she said, 
44 you, especially, Rose, but I am so glad to see you that I 
believe I must pardon you. Why Rose, were you waiting 
for me to call, in all form, on Miss O’Donnell ?” 

44 Oh, Mrs. Kelly,” replied Rose, 44 do not hint at such a 
thing or I will say you are about to commence the scold- 
ing.” 

44 Well, I will not, as the doctor tells me, that, like a good 
girl, you have promised to spend a few days with us.” 

44 And do you not think it very unkind of the doctor, 
Mrs. Kelly,” said Emily, 44 to have left me out in his in- 
vitation ?” 

44 1 fear, Emily,” replied the old lady, 44 you will not be 
able to make out a case of quarrel with him for that, for 
he is not in the habit of paying French compliments, and 
we know it would be one, to ask you to stay away from 
papa ; but why did not Henry accompany you ?” 

44 He had to go from home on some business,” replied 
Emily. 

44 Yes, the doctor tells me that he has become a great 
man for business ; thank God he was spared to you all ?” 

For a second, a shadow passed. over the old lady’s face, 
in the next, little feet were heard hurrying to the door, 
and a cluster of bright curls popped in, but as quickly 
jerked back again. Then there was a slight scuffle out- 
side the door, between Lady Betty’s late maid, and little 
Fanny, the former wishing to bring her young charge to 
the nursery, 44 just to make her tidy,” before she went into 
the drawing room. 

Mrs. Kelly smiled; “let her come in Jane,” she said, and 
in bounded triumphant Fanny, to the great horror of Jane, 
ruffled and tossed as she was, having been for the half hour 
previous rolling down hill with her brother, Fred. Of 
course she was taken up, kissed and petted, and anxious 
inquiries made as to the health of her doll. Fanny said 
44 she was quite well.” Oh, Fanny, how can you say so ? 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


171 


Is she not at this moment standing on her head, in a corner 
of the room, minus a leg, and one arm in a very shattered 
condition ? 

Presently the boys came in; fine, manly little fellows 
they were; Charles, the eldest, was, as I have mentioned, 
about ten, J ames eight and Frederick six. There was no 
awkward bashfulness about the young group ; no dragging 
them forward, thumb in mouth, to speak to the visitors. 
The manners of the two eldest, though boyish enough, 
were gentlemanly and easy, and with Fanny on one side 
and Fred on the other, the young ladies received several 
invitations to go see wonderful baby houses, interesting 
puppies, the new bonnet Fanny had given to her maid, 
and Fred’s kitten. 

“ Children,” said the old lady, “ you must not tease the 
girls, Rose intends remaining with us some days, but if you 
tease her, she will run back with Emily. Come, girls, after 
your drive, you must take some luncheon.” 

“Well, after luncheon, Emily and Rose, will come out 
to the stable to see James’s new pony,” said Fred. 

His brothers laughed. 

“ Young ladies never go to the stables,” said grandmam- 
ma. 

“ But I am sure, grandmamma,” said James, “ Emily would 
like to see him. Let Charley get the saddle on him, and 
ride him round.” 

“ Oh, by all means,” said Emily. 

“Grandpapa,” said James, in a confidential whisper to 
Emily, “ thinks him a little too wild, yet, for me ; but Char- 
ley rides him beautifully.” 

James looked upon his brother Charles as a second Nim- 
rod. 

Not a little proud of having an opportunity to show off 
his horsemanship, Charles, after luncheon, left the room, 
and in a few minutes afterwards, James, who had been 
watching at one of the windows, for his brother to make 
his appearance, — called out, 

“ Here he is. Come here Emily, come here Rose.” 

The ladies went over to the window. 

“ What a beautiful pony,” exclaimed Emily. 




172 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


And a very beautiful animal he was, indeed. None of 
your shaggy Newfoundland ponies, but a diminutive Bu- 
cephalus in strength and beauty, with broad chest, high 
shoulders, short back, well set limbs, small head and ears, j 
large firey eyes, and wide nostrils. His color was dark 
bay, with black legs, and as Charles made him pace back- j 
wards and forwards before the window, he stepped with a 
bounding motion, as if the ground beneath him was elastic. , 

“ Well, sure enough, Master Charles,” said the servant 
who had driven the Dalystown car ; “ he’s a beauty. It’s a 
thousand pities that there’s not more of him in it ; if he was 
two hands, or a hand and a half higher, he’d be worth 
every penny of three hundred pounds.” 

“ Yes, John,” replied the boy; “ grandpapa says, that if 
he was as tall as my filly, he would not take two hundred 
for him. So ho, Gamecock ; be quiet, sir.” 

But Gamecock would not be quiet. He did not under- 
stand why he should be kept wheeling up and down. So 
now and then he gave a little poke with his head, and a 
plunge of impatience. 

“See, John,” said Charles Kelly, “ how fine his mouth is, 
you can turn him with a silk thread.” 

“By dad, then, Master Charles,” replied the servant, 

“ you needn’t be sorry for that, for if he had a hard mouth, 
it would be no easy job to hold him, small as he is.” 

Just then a dog, running out of the yard, frightened the 
little horse. He made two or three bounds sideways, until 
he got himself on the grass. Then, finding himself still 
checked, he plunged and reared violently. The boy sat 
him admirably ; Mrs. Kelly shaded her eyes with her hand, 
but Emily and Bose were Galway girls, and looked on, more 
in admiration than fear. 

“ Let your hands down, Master Charles, and give him his 
head,” said the servant, “ you have plenty of room to take 
the devil out of him.” 

Thus advised, the boy threw himself forward in the sad- 
dle, and the pony, with a wild leap, set off at full speed. 
Bound and round the lawn they sped, Charles, each time 
he passed the window, turning his glowing face to where 
the ladies stood, while Emily waved her handkerchief, and 
the servant called out, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 173 

“ Well done, Master Charles. That ? s the way to take the 
pride out of the little beauty.” 

At length the boy reined in his steed, now thoroughly 
subdued, and James hurried forward to meet his brother, 

u Oh, Charley,” he said, “ you did that well, but it will be 
a long time, before I can ride him.” 

“Well, you know you can ride my filly, James,” replied 
Charles, in rather a condescending tone, as he vaulted off 
the pony, which was led round to the yard by a servant, 
the brothers returning to the house, Charles, to be gently 
chided by his grandmamma for being so foolhardy, and ex- 
tolled by the young ladies for the same. 

“If you do not think I will be too old, Charley,” said 
Emily, “ I will certainly wait for you. And now go, like a 
good boy, and tell the servant to bring the car, for it is get- 
ting late.” 

“I will not ask you to remain for dinner, Emily,” said Mrs. 
Kelly, “ as I know your father would be uneasy. But I can- 
not forgive you for not arranging, so that Henry should 
have accompanied you ; you could then have remained, and 
the doctor would have been so glad to have found you here 
before him.” 

“ Not at all, I assure you, Mrs. Kelly,” replied Miss Daly. 
“He told me he did not want such a madcap in his house.” 

“Do you know, Bose,” said the old lady, laughing, “I 
half suspect those quarrels are got up to deceive me.” 

“Not a doubt of it, my dear Mrs Kelly,” replied Rose. 

When Miss Daly took her departure, the children scamp- 
ered off to play, and Mrs. Kelly and Rose sat down, very 
quietly, to work and chat. Towards evening, the doctor 
arrived home, and mighty was the uproar among the young 
people at the event. Charles and James unseated the ser- 
vant, and took possession of the gig, which they drove 
round to the yard, while Fred and Fanny (seemingly bent 
on self-destruction,) came tumbling down stairs to meet 
grandpapa in the hall. 

And now Fanny makes infantile efforts to strangle the 
old gentleman, as she endeavors to untie a large muffle 
from around his neck, the doctor squatting down to allow 
her to reach to it, whilst Fred, toils, like a galley slave, at 


174 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


the sleeve of his coat. Suddenly, the excitement becomes 
intense, for the doctor has lost his balance, and fallen right 
upon his back, while the children, with shouts of laughter, 
mount upon his chest. Grandpapa makes an attempt to 
rise, but the children, and his • top coat, hold him down, 
whereupon he shouts : “ Help, murder, thieves, Ribbon- 

men,” which puts Fanny into such kinks of laughter, that 
she rolls helplessly on to the floor. 

“ And Rose is here, grandpapa,” says Fred. 

“ Well, you young brigand, let me up to see her; oh here 
she is. Rose, give me your hand to help me up, if you 
would not see murder done before your eyes.” 

But Rose was laughing so much she could not help him. 

“ You are as bad as the rest, Rose,” he said. “ Out of my 
way, Fanny. Now then, here we go,” and the doctor stood 
once more upon his legs. 

“ You are a good girl, Rose, to have kept your promise,” 
he said, shaking hands with her. “ When did you arrive ?” 

“ About three hours ago,” she answered. 

“ And Emily, is she here ?” he asked. 

“ No, she has returned. She knew Mr. Daly would be un- 
easy if she had to travel after nightfall ; and you know to 
get her to remain away, even for one night, is impossible.” 

“ Oh, the baggage,” said the doctor, “ she has always some 
excuse.” 

He and Rose then entered the room where Mrs. Kelly 
was. 

“ Well, Mrs. Kelly,” said the doctor, “here I am, as hungry 
as an office seeker.” 

“And here is the servant,” replied Mrs. Kelly, “ to tell us 
that dinner is served. So it you will give Rose your arm, we 
will go down to it.” 

During dinner, the doctor told all the light news of the 
country round, and it was surprising how interesting he 
made it, divested as it was of scandal and ill-nature. 

The ladies did not retire after dinner, but as the evening 
advanced, they got their work baskets over to the table, 
and the doctor wheeled his chair nearer to the fire. This 
movement had been anxiously watched for by the children. 
Charley and James got chairs next to their grandfather; 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


175 


Fred brought forward a stool, and Fanny, notwithstanding 
her late attempt at garroting, perched herself on grand- 
papa’s knee. The boys looked at Fanny, and she looked at 
the old man. 

u What’s in the wind now ?” said he. 

“ Grandpapa,” replied Fanny, stroking the old man’s hair, 
“ is going to tell a little, — little story.” 

“ Hum,” said the doctor, “I suspected as much. Why do 
you not get grandmamma to tell a story ?” 

“ Oh, grandmamma has no good story,” replied Fred. 

“ Yes, she has,” said Fanny, “she told me all about little 
Red Riding Hood.” 

“Fred was staggered, though not convinced, by this proof 
of grandmamma’s powers of composition, but James came to 
the rescue. 

“ Little Red Riding Hood is in books,” he said, “ but 
grandpapa’s stories never were nor never will be in a book.” 

“ Rather a doubtful compliment, James,” said the old gen- 
tleman, laughing. “Well, what shall it be about?” 

“ One we never heard, grandpapa,” said J ames. 

“ Let there be lots of dogs and horses in it,” said Fred. 

“ And dolls and rabbits,” said Fanny. 

“ Tell one that Rose will like to listen to, sir,” said Charles. 

“ You see, Rose,” remarked the doctor, “ how difficult we 
authors find it to please everybody.” 

“ Oh commence, doctor,” replied Rose, “ and I am sure 
you will please.” 

“^Tou mean, Rose, that it is easy to please those who 
have a will to be pleased. Ahem. — Now you must all shut 
your eyes until I am fairly started, for I want you to sup- 
pose that I am reading my story out of a book.” 

This was a famous coup-(Petat of the doctor’s, and a much 
more innocent one than Louis Napoleon’s ; for, sometimes 
it happened, that when little eyes closed, they did not open 
again until the following morning. 

“ Stay, James,” said Mrs. Kelly, “ do you not remember 
when you returned home, some years ago, from London, of 
telling me that a friend, whom you met there, related to you 
a very remarkable story with which he himself was con- 
nected.” . 


170 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN, 


“ I remember all about it, Mary,” replied the doctor, “but 
God bless my soul, did I never tell you the story itself?” 

“Never,” she replied. 

“ And you never asked me, from that day to this,” said 
the doctor, putting on a very surprised look, u Now, Eose, 
who dares to say that a woman is curious ? To him who 
says so, I throw down my glove, and a pair of the worsted 
stockings my wife knitted for me.” 

“ Well, James,” said Mrs. Kelly, reward mjr patience by 
telling it now. It may amuse Rose.” 

“ I intended,” said the doctor, “ to have ridden off to-night, 
on Jack and the beanstalk, until Charley suggested my tell- 
ing something that might interest Eose, and I was just 
puzzling my old head what it should be ; so, Mary, your re- 
quest comes quite opportune.” 

I was well acquainted, in early life, with the gentleman 
who related to me the incidents which I am now about 
to tell you ; some of them I knew before. Though many 
years my junior, we were intimate friends at one time, 
and when chance brought us again together, we were glad 
to renew our old friendship. During my stay in London, I 
dined frequently at his house, and it was on one of those 
occasions, finding ourselves all alone, he related to me that 
which you shall now hear,” 

“ Oh ! a true story !” said Charley, rubbing his hands, in 
great glee. 

“ Well, my boy,” said the doctor, “ stir up the fire. A sto- 
ry is nothing without a good fire to tell it by. It is as scenery 
to a play.” 

Mrs. Kelly and Eose here laid aside their work, and joined 
the circle at the fire. 

“That is right, Rose,” said the doctor. “Just sit there. 
What a pretty side scene you make, to be sure. So ring 
the bell, Charley, and up with the curtain. Hillo ! what is 
this ?” 

This exclamation was caused by Fred’s falling off the stool, 
while asleep, and continuing his nap on the hearth-rug. 

On examination, it was discovered that Henry was in a 
like helpless state. So the bell was rung, and Lady Betty’s 
ex-maid and another servant carried off the young crimi- 
nals, asleep and “ incapable, your worship.” 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN- 177 

The doctor then commenced his story. But I will give it 
a chapter for itself. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE DOCTOR’S STORY. 

In the forenoon of a winter’s day, Mr. John Fieldfare sat 
in the private office of his counting house, in the city of 
London. The outer office was usually occupied by two 
clerks, this day there was but one there. Though so early 
in the day, the gas was lighted in both offices, for London 
had fallen into one of its chronic fogs, or rather, the fog had 
fallen into London. The morning papers stated that the 
sun had been struggling for the last two days to shine 
through it; but this was a newspaper lie. A few miles out- 
side of London, the sun was looking down upon well glean- 
ed fields, happy homesteads, sparkling rivers, green lands, 
and laughing children. Now having such pleasant things 
to look at, to say that it would put itself into an extra heat, 
and it is so hot already, by struggling to look into London, 
was an absurdity originating in Cockney vanity. 

Mr. Fieldfare, at times, raised his eyes from the ledger 
he was poring over, to look at the window, — to look out of 
it, at present, was impossible. Indeed, in the best weather, 
a lover of nature would have deemed the view somewhat 
limited, as a tall chimney stood opposite the window, at a 
few yards distance from it, and the wind frequently drove 
the heavy smoke into the little court yard below, from 


12 


178 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


whence, as it ascended, it effectually shut out the short 
view that the tall chimney bounded. 

Mi\ Fieldfare was a tall, strong man, of about fifty years 
of age. We all have read of people described as having 
determined looking features. Now, Mr. Fieldfare’s features 
belonged to this order. His nose was a determined looking 
nose, and all through life, he had followed his nose with a 
very determined will. Whether it was his nose that had 
governed his will, or his will that had given character to 
his nose, I leave metaphysicians to decide. .. 

Although not exactly one of the prince merchants of 
London, he was, nevertheless, a rich man. His name ranked 
high on ’change and figured on the right side of the bal- 
ance sheet of the Bank of England. What more could any 
man desire? If any one had put this question to Mr. Field- 
fare, years ago, when a young lad he came up to London, 
with a fixed resolve to battle for a portion of its fabulous 
wealth, he would have answered : “ nothing more.” If at any 
time afterwards, during those years that he toiled upward, 
with every nerve of mind and body strained, to the goal of 
his ambition, the same question was put, he would still have 
answered : “nothing more”. But now, when that goal was 
reache d ; when he knew how high his character stood, among 
those whose good opinion he valued; when his ledger told 
him that the wealth he had toiled for, was safely lodged to 
his credit in the Bank of England, now, as reclining back 
in his easy chair, he put to himself this very same -question, 
there came to him, through the fog and smoke of London, 
voices from the abiding places of truth, whispering: “more, 
more, much more.” But Mr. Fieldfare was not going to al- 
low himself to be fooled by any such thoughts. 

“Nonsense,” he soliloquized, “ if I am not happy, it is not 
that I have mistaken the road that leads to being so. All 
that is worth having in this world, wealth can buy, — power, 
position, pleasures, the respect of man, the love of woman.” 

As Mr Fieldfare thus mused, the door opened and his 
clerk looked in. 

“ There’s a lady here, sir,” said the latter, “ wishes to 
speak with you.” 

“ A lady. — who is she ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


179 


u I think sir, she is Mr. Russell’s wife,” 

“ And where is Mr. Russell himself?” asked Mr. Field- 
fare. 

“ He has not come, sir, this morning,” replied the clerk. 

“ Hum, what can the woman want with me ? Show her 
n ; I did not even know that Russell was married.” 

This was true enough, Mr. Fieldfare did not care to know 
ianything of the private lives of those in his employment ; 
it was sufficient for him that they performed well the duties 
for which he paid them. 

The clerk retired, and in a few moments afterwards, Mrs. 
Russell entered the office. 

“ Mr. Fieldfare, I presume ?” she said. 

“ That is my name, ma’am.” 

The harsh voice those words were spoken in, made the 
lady glance at the stern face before her. 

“ Alas !” she thought, “ what weary hours poor Henry 
must pass here !” 

Mr. Fieldfare gave an impatient “ ahem. ’ 

“ My husband, Mr. Henry Russell, sir,” said the lady, “has 
met with a very severe accident. Returning home last eve- 
ning, his foot slipped and he sprained his ankle very badly. 
The doctor fears he will not be able to leave the house for 
a week or so, and I have called to let you know why it is 
that he cannot attend the office. It is very distressing, but 
my husband bid me say that he hopes to make up for any 
inconvenience this may cause you, by staying after office 
hours, when able to attend.” 

“ It will cause me no inconvenience whatever, madam,” 
replied Mr. Fieldfare, “ clerks are plenty enough, and my 
business is not to be delayed, because your husband chose 
to sprain his foot.” 

Mrs. Russell was a very gentle lady. When a girl, she 
had seen little of the world, outside her own family circle ; 
and since her marriage, her husband and child formed her 
entire society. All her life, she had been listening to gen- 
tle words from loving lips. So, like a raw recruit, when he 
first hears the bullets whizzing around him, she had a strong 
notion to turn and fly from those bullet words and that piti- 
less voice, but as pride sustains the recruit, indignation gave 


180 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


strength to the young wife. To hear Henry spoken of, in 
such a contemptuous manner, — Henry, her ideal of all that 
was good and noble, put on a level with every common 
clerk in the city. “ Plenty of clerks she knew that, but 
were there plenty such as Henry ? How she would con- 
found the man, had she courage to ask him this. But she 
felt much more inclined to cry ; she wanted air, so she threw 
back her veil, and there was a bright blush on her face, as 
she looked at Mr. Fieldfare. 

The latter was surprsed at the classic beauty of her face. 
He stammered out some apology for his rude speech, “ men 
of business were apt to be put out, at hearing of anything 
that would disarrange its routine. He trusted she would 
excuse him.” And she did. She thought to herself it was 
but his manner, and she had heard Henry say that rough- 
inannered people were often very good. 

Whilst Mrs. Bussell was thus thinking, an unholy passion 
which he thought was love, took possession of Mr. Field- 
fare, but which resembled love about as much as the paint 
upon the poor wretch’s cheek resembles the glow of health. 

Just before this lady had entered his office, he had been 
endeavoring to prove to himself that money could procure 
all things worth having. Well, here was a love worth a 
fortune. So he resolved to test the power of that divinity 
before which he bowed down and worshipped. 

Now, to carry out this resolve, Fieldfare should, accord- 
ing to the rules laid down in such cases, by some romantic 
writers, have at once appeared in the light of a raw-head- 
and-bloody-bones ; and, dismissing Henry Bussell on the 
spot, hunt him afterwards through every shade of poverty, 
to the grave ; after which he, Fieldfare, should come forward 
and offer to Mrs Bussell — by that time a very frightful skel- 
eton — his love and a splendid establishment. 

But Mr. Fieldfare never read novels. He had seen the 
play of “ Bichard the Third” performed, and considered the 
scene between Bichard and Anna highly unnatural. Nor, 
indeed, was Mr. Fieldfare wicked enough to adopt such a 
course, even if he had been fool enough to suppose it prac- 
ticable. And, to give John Bull but his due, it would be 
no easy matter to hunt a man to death in Old England,. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


181 


John, in the body •politic, is not as good as he might be, but 
individually, he is the greatest lover of justice, liberty and 
fair play that the world has ever seen. 

A young man like Henry Kussell, of unblemished char- 
acter, might snap his fingers in the faces of all the Prince 
Merchants of England, the Court of Aldermen, Windsor 
Castle, and Gog and Magog to boot. 

“ What answer, sir, shall I bring back to my husband ?” 
said Mrs. Bussell. “ Excuse me, but he will be uneasy until 
my return.” 

“ This little accident is rather unfortunate, just now,” re- 
plied Mr. Fieldfare, “ for there was a matter I am particular 
about, which I wished Mr. Bussell to attend to for ihe.” He 
paused for a moment as if thinking, and then added: “Do 
you think your husband could do a little writing at home?” 

“ Oh yes,” replied the lady, “ the doctor says all that is 
necessary is for him to keep quiet on the sofa ; if a table 
was wheeled over to it, I am sure he could write and would 
be glad to do so.” 

“I do not exactly know where you reside, Mrs. Bussell?” 
said Mr. Fieldfare. 

“We lodge in Shaftsbury street, Islington,” replied the 
lady. 

“ Islington, that is some distance from this. However, 
if possible, I will call upon Mr. Bussell after bankhours 
and bring with me the papers I want him to copy. Pray, 
what is your number ?” 

“ Fifty-five,” she replied. 

“ Fifty-five Shaftsbury street, Islington,” said Mr. Field- 
fare, making a note in his memorandum book. 

The lady rose to take her departure, Mr. Fieldfare rose 
also. 

“Would she not allow him to send for a cab ?” 

She thanked him, “ but the Islington omnibusses passed 
the door, and she would return by one of them.” 

Mr. Fieldfare opened the office door, bowed politely, 
and Mrs. Bussell hurried home to acquaint her husband 
with the intended visit, which surprised him not a little. 

Mr. Fieldfare was not a depraved man, neither was he 
what is termed a bad man; his character is better ex- 


182 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN* 


pressed by saying, he was a hard man. From his youth 
upward, he had walked through life, looking neither to the 
left nor right, with but one object, wealth ; but he took no 
crooked paths to reach it. He deprived no poor man of 
his wages, nor did the curse of widow or orphan rest upon 
him. His dealings were with men, keen and strong as 
himself. He met them openly, grappled with them man- 
fully, wrestled with them fairly, without stooping to the 
religious dodge or the hypocritical trip. But, if he wronged 
no man, neither did he ever serve one. If he caused not 
the tears of the orphan to flow, never had he stopped in his 
path and stretched forth his hand to dry them up. He ar- 
gued that a man could do what he liked with his own. In- 
disputable premises, self-evident truth! But before we 
act upon it, it would be well to ascertain, as nearly as pos- 
sible, what is really our own. 

After Mrs. Bussell had taken her departure, Mr. Fieldfare 
went into the city to transact business. About three 
o’clock in the afternoon, he hurried back to his office, and 
selecting some papers, put them in his pocket and set out 
for Islington. 

What his intentions were, he did not very well know, nor 
did he give himself time to consider them. When he 
knocked at the door of the house, where his clerk lodged, 
it was opened by the landlady, Mrs. Frumble. 

This good lady was the widow of a defunct tax collector, 
and was in the habit of appearing in two very different 
characters. With the butcher, baker, and other small 
traders, blessed with her custom, she was a “ poor, lone wo- 
man, that ought to get things cheaper than any one else.” 
She cringed and higgled, until, to get rid of her, people 
often gave things at her own price ; but with her lodgers, 
and their visitors, she was a very different person, — “ the 
widow of a government officer,” and though she had been 
hurled from her high estate by the death of “ her dear 
Frumble, — his likeness, — his full length likeness, — with 
his books under his arm, hung in the front parlor.” She 
had to demean herself by letting lodgings, and did not choose 
to keep a servant; she was not going to lower herself alto- 
gether, — not she, — in waiting on people who harrowed her 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


183 


feelings, by locking up their cold meat. “ They were poor 
and busy enough to attend themselves.” 

So, on Mr. Fieldfare’s inquiring for Mr. Russell, he was 
anweredin a sharp voice, “first landing, door, right hand,” 
after popping out which, Mrs. Frumble banged the door to, 
and whisked into the front parlor to gaze upon the likeness 
of the defunct tax collector, which looked down upon her 
with a stern, governmental frown, a thing the original 
never presumed to do while in the flesh. To be sure the 
likeness had the advantage of position, inasmuch as it 
hung beyond the convenient reach of Mrs. Frumble’s 
fingers ; and this leads me to suppose that Frumble may have 
departed this life with a very false impression on his mind 
as to the real nature of the feelings of a numerous class of 
persons towards him — I allude to those to whom he was 
in the habit of paying professional visits — and that they 
may have been actuated by the most lively interest in his 
domestic happiness, when they advised him, which they 
frequently did, “ to go hang himself.” 

When Mr. Fieldfare screwed himself up the narrow 
stairs, he found the door, to which he had been directed, 
partially opened, revealing the little group the room con- 
tained. 

Henry Russell lay on a sofa, at the foot of which knelt 
his young wife ; she had been applying a cooling lotion to 
his swollen ancle, and was now in the act of replacing the 
bandages, whilst, near the top of the sofa, was a little girl 
not more than three years of age, glowing and panting 
with exertion, as in imitation of her mother, she rolled a 
bandage round a sound and well shaped arm, held out to 
her very patiently. 

As Mr. Fieldfare looked, the eyes of the parents rested 
on their beautiful child, and then were raised to each 
other’s faces. So full of holy, confiding love and thankful 
happiness were those glances, that the visitor drew back- 
He durst not enter that humble room, perfumed by love, to 
pollute it with the presence of his bad thoughts. Like a 
thief, he hurried down stairs, and out into the street. 

“ I dare not,” he said, “ I dare not, for my soul sake, enter 
that room just now.” 


184 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


For his soul sake ! How many years had come and gone 
since such a thought had entered the mind of that worldly 
man. Not since his youth ; and with it, now came thoughts 
of his young days, of the humble home, far down in the 
country, of the mother who had hung weeping on his neck, 
ere he left; nor did those thoughts leave him until he retir- 
ed to rest. Then he had a strange dream, he dreamt an 
angel stood by his bedside, and said. “ Arise and come 
with me ; for your soul sake, come.” 

He arose. All was vague then until he found himself, 
with his guide, in a vast hall, so vast that he could form no 
idea of its extent. It had no roof, and the stars looked 
down into it. In it, there were innumerable poles or shafts, 
rising so high that the eye lost them in space. These stood 
in pairs, like the sides of a ladder, each pair standing dis- 
tinct from the others. Myriads and myriads of rungs were 
continually flying into, and joining together, these lofty 
poles. Some of these rungs, or steps, were of purest gold, 
others of silver, others of diamonds ; others, again, were 
formed of loathsome reptiles. Hideous, slimy snakes, coil- 
ed their bodies into rungs, their heads hanging down, their 
forked tongues darting in and out, and their bright eyes 
glistening. Sometimes, rungs, formed of bright, globular 
drops of water, entered above these serpent rungs, and a 
few detached drops, falling upon the latter, they instantly 
disappeared, their places becoming occupied by clear, trans- 
parant rungs. Crowds of phantoms were continually en- 
tering, and gliding to these ladders. Some ascended and 
were quickly lost to sight, others ascended to great heights 
but were met by serpent rungs, when, uttering piercing 
shrieks, they fell back into yawning chasms, which opened 
to receive them ; others, again, on approaching certain lad- 
ders, found them altogether occupied by loathsome crea- 
tures. There were ladders there with rungs, which broke 
as the phantoms stepped upon them, and they, likewise, 
were hurled into those dismal pits, which were continually 
opening around. 

“Thou would’st know,” said the spirit, “the meaning of 
what thou see’st, listen. Those high poles are reason and 
free-will. They reach to heaven, and one of each is given 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


185 


to every mortal. The rungs which join them, and by which 
man must ascend, are his deeds whilst on earth ; those of 
silver are his fair dealings with his brother, — ‘ Do unto 
others, as you would that others should do unto you.’ Those 
of gold, and of such variety of shape and color, are noble 
deeds performed, the weak protected, the oppressor defied ; 
temptations resisted, injuries forgiven; faith, and other vir- 
tues, which, tested in the furnace of truth, come forth pure 
gold. Those diamond rungs, so superior to all the rest, for 
they never fail to bring a host of the others in their train, 
behold their name.” 

The diamond rungs sparkled, and by their own light, 
Fieldfare read, “ Charity,” 

“ Mortal,” said the spirit, “ the angels have nought more 
precious than those, to rest upon, as they stand minister 
ing before the throne of God. Those clear drops, forming 
into rungs, are the tears of penitents. Thou see’st how the 
loathsome rungs disappear at their touch. Those that 
break are the acts of hypocrites ; with them, they deceived 
others while on earth ; by them, they themselves are now 
deceived. Mortal ! Thy own soul tells thee what those 
serpent rungs are,- — Man’s evil passions. A little while 
ago thou had’st all but coiled one ; you were saved for the 
time. But see:” 

Fieldfare turned. Before him were many pairs of poles, 
without rungs. 

u Those,” said the spirit, belong to them who have com- 
mitted no crimes, and yet, have wrought no good deeds.” 

As he spoke, a number of phantoms approached the poles, 
and looked up their smooth sides. Alas, there were no 
rungs by which they could ascend, and, weeping they turn- 
ed away. Fieldfare shuddered. He had recognized, he 
knew not how, his own pair. 

“ Oh God !” he cried, clasping his hands before his eyes, 
“ not one rung ; too late too late !” 

“ It is never too late, while on earth,” replied the spirit. 
“Behold.” 

Fieldfare removed his hands ; the whole space before him 
was now filled with a glowing, living painting, representing 
three figures. That on the left was in deep shade, but from 


186 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTO WIN. 


the center one there issued a stream of light, encircling the 
head of the third figure with a halo of glory. It was the 
smile of the Savior, beaming on the penitent thief. 

“ It was not too late for him,” said the angel. 

Then, with a cry of joy, Fieldfare awoke. It was clear 
day, the fog had passed off, and the sun was shining bright- 
ly ; for, notwithstanding all that has been said to the con- 
trary, London often enjoys a very respectable winter’s sun. 
But a darker fog than any that ever rested over London, 
had risen from Mr Fieldfare’s mind. True, it was but a 
dream, and had passed away, but not before its mission of 
mercy had been fulfilled ; and happy is it for him who re- 
jects not such warnings, in whatever shape or form they 
come. 

“ My God ! I thank thee,” exclaimed Mr. Fieldfare, spring- 
ing from his bed, and falling upon his knees, “ merciful 
God, I thank thee, that it is not too late.” 

That same day, he called upon his clerk, Henry Russell. 
He was not afraid now, to enter the little room. Russell 
had made up his mind that he should look out for another 
situation, thinking it very probable that Mr. Fieldfare had 
already filled up his place. He was then by no means pre- 
pared for the kind tones in which the latter addressed him. 
Mr. Fieldfare remarked his surprised look, and was at no loss 
to account for it. 

“I astonish you, Russell,” he said, “because! speak kind- 
ly to you. It is a good reproof to me, Henry, and one that 
I well deserve. But I hope I am a changed man ; all my 
life I have been looking through the wrong end of life’s tel- 
escope. How I found this out, you perhaps shall one day 
learn, and how you and your wife, and this innocent child 
helped to turn the right end of the glass to my eye. All 
this, I say, you may, perhaps, one day learn ; but to-day, I 
have come to speak to you of yourself. I want you to allow 
me to be your friend, and to be so effectually, I must know 
something of your past history. You have been now in my 
employment over two years, and I know no more of your 
private life, than if I had never seen you, nor of the lives 
and circumstances of any of those who have been in my 
employment from time to time. It was sufficient for me 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


187 


that they came wpll recommended, and performed their 
duties to my satisfaction. I never cared to inquire what 
kind of homes they turned their weary footsteps to, after 
they toiled and labored for me during the day. If I had 
done so, how many faces I might have brightened, how 
many wounds I might have healed how many hearts I 
might have lightened, how many blessings I might have 
gathered around me ! And I could have done all this with- 
out feeling, in a worldly sense, any loss. But it is not too 
late, Russell ; it is not too late. Come now, tell me all about 
yourself. Upon my word, I think that but for your sprain- 
ed ancle, you would long since have made a. fair start of it, 
for I see by your look,§, that you have a great misgiving as 
to my sanity. Quite right, and quite natural, Henry. But 
I am not mad ; I have been so for years past, and am now 
restored to my senses, I thank my God. And let me tell 
you, Russell, that if all the respectable, elderly lunatics, 
similarly affected, and now at large in this city, were taken 
up, the asylums of England, would scarcely hold them. 
Now tell me your history. Every man has a little history.” 

Henry Russell’s little history was soon told. He was by 
birth and education, a gentleman. Six months after he had 
entered his name on the books of the Temple, and com- 
menced eating his way to the bar, as it is termed, his father 
died, leaving his son about as much as would enable him, 
with strict economy, to support himself while a law' stu- 
dent, and buy his wig and gown when he got called. Now 
it so happened that Henry had a very sincere affection for 
a cousin of his and she for him ; but, under such circum- 
stances, of course they could not think of getting married, 
of course not ! Yet there was no reason why he should 
not go see his pretty cousin, of course not ! So during va- 
cation, in the pleasant months of summer, he went down 
into the country where she resided. How glad she w r as to 
see him ! Very sensibly indeed, for two so young, they 
planned that Henry was to work for years and years, until 
he had obtained a position' in his profession, his pretty 
cousin waiting faithfully, during those weary years, for the 
time when he could claim her as his own. Having plan- 
ned this as I have mentioned, in the most sensible manner, 


188 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


and it being absolutely and finally settled upon, Henry be- 
gan to chafe a good deal at his evil fortune, and his pretty 
cousin to cry a good deal, until at length they formed anoth- 
er plan. 

Now, fearing that if this changing of plans continued, 
they might confuse themselves, they wisely resolved to act 
upon this one ; so they went at once and got married. 

Henry had now arrived at a very delicate part of his his- 
tory. He could not tell, with that sweet face before him, 
that the additional expense of a wife had compelled him to 
relinquish all idea of the bar, in order to procure immedi- 
ate employment. He was not a fellow to whine and vow 
and sigh, until he got a woman to ^aave him, and then to 
turn upon her and say : u see what I have lost by marrying 
you !” 

“ After a little time,” said Henry, “ I got tired of c eating 
my way to the bar,’ with but little prospect of succeeding 
when I got there, so I changed my mind and looked out for 
a situation in the city. I wrote a good hand, was a fair ac- 
countant, and got employment easily enough; I spent one 
year with Mr. Silversmith and then, sir, came to you.” 

Mr. Fieldfare was at no loss to guess why it was that Rus- 
sell had got tired of his law studies, and he admired him the 
more for the delicacy with which he concealed the real 
reason. 

“ Well, Henry,” he said, when the former had concluded, 
and they had been for some time afterwards conversing to- 
gether, “ We may find some way to win you back to your 
old love, unless you prefer some other profession. One 
thing I now promise you and your wife, that you shall not 
spend your life as a city clerk. Why, what is the matter 
with the man ?” Henry had laid his head down upon the 
sofa, and was sobbing like a child. Mrs. Russell, will you^- 
hillo ! I declare, she is as bad as he is.” 

“ Oh,” sobbed the poor young wife, “ you are so kind, you 
have made us so happy and taken such a load off my heart, 
for, let Henry conceal it as he will, I know it was baby and 
myself that prevented him from going to the bar.” 

u Well, suppose it was, ma’am,” replied Mr. Fieldfare, u I 
would like to know now, how many respectable wigs he 
would take in exchange for both of you.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


189 


“ Not to be made Chancellor of England,” said Henry. 

“There,” said Mr. Fieldfare, “you see he would not give 
you for the Chancellor’s wig. No great compliment after 
all, for no Chancellor’s wig ever had such curls as these,” 
and he stirred up the child’s bright curls with his hand. 

“ Here, Henry,” he continued, take this little one and 
nurse her, it is all you are fit to do for a few days, but get 
well soon, I will want you to assist me in doing that which 
I should have done those many years past. But it is not 
too late, Henry, not too late. Not a word now, none of us 
are fit to speak just now. Egad, I am half inclined to cry 
myself. I hope I will get a look at your landlady, as I pass 
down, it will freeze me up effectually. I am coming here 
to-morrow. Don’t stir, good bye,” and their visitor was 
gone, leaving two happy hearts behind him. 

Quite a simple thing, good neighbors, and easy of accom- 
plishment, and yet, had he spent his morning on ’change, 
and realized, as clear profit, the entire amount of the na- 
tional debt of England, he would not have performed an 
action half so profitable to himself. 

Although Mr. Fieldfare commenced, from this time out, 
to do good with the same energy that characterized him r.s 
a man of business, the change was unnoticed by the world in 
general. In all outward appearances he was the same, save 
that his laugh was heartier and his look more open. For, 
be it known to you, he did not become a saint, — that is, he 
did not wear a white choker and vinegar face, nor did he 
turn up his nose as he walked the streets, as if its orthodox 
sense of smell detected the sinner as he passed. He did 
not become a leading member of any foreign mission; he 
had no sympathy for foreign savages while there were so 
many naked little savages running about the streets of Lon- 
don/ He did not attend meetings at Exeter Hall, to de- 
dounce Fopery and to hear himself called “ a godly man ” 
by old ladies, who subscribed to foreign missions the money 
they had gained by cheating at whist. In short, he did not 
countenance any of the thousand-and-one humbugs got up 
by smooth-faced, oily-chopped hypocrites, who pick the 
pockets of their dupes, by pandering to their vanity, igno- 
rance, pride, and even to their uncharitableness. For ha* 


190 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


tred of all who differ from them, is the most profitable feel- 
ing that the roving apostolic missionary can invoke. 

“Only think,” said the doctor, breaking off fora moment 
in his story, “ only think of an ignorant, white-faced, gander- 
necked Scroggins, whose whole sanctity and call consists 
in a very disagreeable and acquired nasal twang, coming 
to Ireland to uproot the religion founded by the apostles, 
and preached here by a Patrick.” 

No, Mr. Fieldfare avoided the Pharisees, for he had the 
rotten rungs fresh in his memory. His first care was to 
make himself acquainted with the priyate character and 
circumstances of those in his employment. By assisting 
them he received present reward, that of seeing himself 
surrounded by happy faces, and he soon discovered how 
very little it really takes to raise an industrious poor man 
from pinching poverty to comparative independence. But 
he did not coniine himself to what might be termed his own 
circle. Whenever he had an opportunity to serve his fel- 
low-man, he did so, and did it effectually ; for when once he 
took a man by the hand, he did not let go his hold until he 
had placed him on his legs. In casual charities he never 
adopted any fixed rule. He would feed a hungry man, did 
he know him to be fresh from a felon’s cell, not deeming 
it would improve him much to leave him hungry. In all 
his acts of benevolence, Russell was his active agent. As 
they became intimate, Mr. Fieldfare quickly recognized 
his young friend’s talents and acquirements, and he insisted 
on the latter resuming his studies for the bar. 

“ ‘ I am alone in the world, Henry,’ he said , 4 I am rich, and 
were I to die to-morrow, you should have a portion of my 
money, — not as much though as would allow you to be idle. 
This being the case, you must not allow a mistaken pride 
to debar me from the pleasure of seeing it of service to 
you now.’ So to the bar Henry Russell went, and Mr. 
Fieldfare had the happiness, for years before his death, of 
witnessing the growing success of his friend, and finally his 
distinguished position. Some few years after Russell had 
commenced practicing as a barrister, Mr. Fieldfare retired 
from business. He purchased a handsome place, down at 
Richmond, where he usually spent his summers, and where 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 191 

Bussell and his family were sure to join him, at the com- 
mencement of the long vacation. 

“ Years thus glided by, when Mr. Fieldfare, then a very 
old man, was seized with his last illness. Russell and his 
wife were in London at the time, but both hastened down 
to Richmond. Never did a daughter attend the sick bed 
of a parent with more untiring love than Mrs. Russell that 
of her benefactor’s. 

“ ‘Two days before his death,’ said Henry Russell to me 
(for the friend with whom I dined, and who told me the 
• story I have now told to you, was no other) ‘he called me 
to his bedside, and related to me the dream he had had 
years before. It was strange, how clear and distinct it had 
remained in the old man’s memory.’ 

“ ‘ Do you remember, Henry,’ he said, ‘I told you at the 
time, that you might one day learn the cause of the sudden 
change you saw in me then ; and yet, he added, I do not 
believe that I was naturally bad, or the performance of my 
duty could not have become, as it did, so quickly, — a la- 
bor of love, but that the greed for wealth had for a time 
choked up all my better feelings, as weeds do a well. The 
little domestic scene of happiness I witnessed, unobserved 
by you, plucked up the weeds, and the spring burst forth.’ 

“ ‘His, indeed,’ concluded my friend, ‘ was a happy death, 
and at a distance I endeavor to follow in his footsteps/’ ’ 

“ And so Henry Russell was the friend you dined with, 
grandpapa,” said Charley, drawing a great sigh, when the 
doctor’s story was concluded. 

“ Yes, my boy.” 

“ And his pretty wife, grandpapa ?” 

“ Oh, she gave us an excellent cup of tea when we join- 
ed her in the drawing room; much better then the one 
grandmamma has treated herself to, or she would not be 
nodding asleep. Come, boys, scamper off to bed.” 

“ Grandpapa,” said James, “now that I have a pony, I 
think I will giv6 my donkey to widow Casey.” 

“ Right, my boy,” replied the doctor ; “ look out for the 
diamond rungs, James.” 

“ Oh, it is not much,” answered the boy, “ to give what 
one does not want.” 


t 192 THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 

“ My beloved children,” replied the old man, in a sweet, 
persuasive voice, a cup of water given kindly, may have 
power to draw us to the bosom of our God.” 

Anxious as Rose was to make a confidant of Dr. Kelly, 
and to have his advice before she again met Henry Daly, 
yet, by the time the boys had retired it was too late to do 
so. She wished, too, that the doctor would introduce the sub- 
ject himself, and she had little doubt, judging from his man- 
ner toward her, on the evening he invited her to the Grove, 
but that he would avail himself of the first opportunity to 
do so. Knowing him to be an early riser, she resolved, if 
possible, to meet him on the following morning, before the 
other members of the family had left their rooms. Ac- 
cordingly, she was up very early, and on opening her win- 
dow she saw the doctor, at a distance, in his garden. Hasti- 
ly dressing, she threw a shawl around her, and hurried to 
join him. She found the old man busy with the gardener, 
taking up flower roots. 

u Ah, Rose,” he said, when he saw her, “ my beautiful 
Rose in bloom even in dreary winter. Good morning ; come 
until I show you these dahlia roots. Ah, you should have 
seen my dahlias in bloom last summer ; that little minx, 
Emily, never had anything like them, at Dalystown.” 

By dad, sir,” said the gardener, “ Miss Daly’s wasn’t a 
bit behind them, this year. ’Twas myself gave her the 
roots, and I done my endeavors to pick out the healthiest 
I could for her.” 

“Well, John,” replied the doctor, - C I yield to your better 
judgment; but I thought those we had here were finer 
than the ones I saw at Dalystown. After all, I suppose the 
difference was, that the flowers which grew in my own gar- 
den seemed to me finer than those in my neighbor’s. I will 
leave you, John, to finish the raising of these roots, for it 
does not suit my old back, very well, to be stooping ; come, 
Rose, we will take a turn through the garden before break- 
fast.” 

When they had reached the end of one of the walks, the 
doctor said, “ come now, Rose, tell me all, — not that yoix 
and Henry love each other; I know that, this many a day. 
But has he not spoken to you ; what did he say, and wha§ 
did you say if That is what I want to know.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


193 


The doctor felt the hand, that rested on his arm, tremble, 
and her voice was weak aud hurried, as she commenced to 
speak, but he encouraged her with gentle words, and before 
she concluded her timidity had passed away, and she met 
his eyes with an open, innocent look. 

44 1 have told you all,” she concluded, 44 1 came here for 
the purpose of doing so ; I am an orphan, and come to you 
as a father — counsel me what to do, and do not think so 
poorly of me as to suppose that I will not have strength 
to follow the course you would point out.” 

44 You are a good, noble-hearted girl, Rose,” replied Dr. 
Kelly, and were Henry Daly my son, I would, so help me 
Heaven, cross an ocean to win him such a bride ; but, sit- 
uated as he is at present, his marriage with you would en- 
tail misfortune, not alone on yourselves, but on others 
whom you both love.” 

44 1 know it,” replied the young girl. 44 Every hour it is 
clearer and clearer to me.” 

44 So you have told me, Rose,” said the doctor, 44 else I 
could scarcely have brought my self to say such cruel words ; 
for you love him, Rose, with all your true woman’s heart.” 

44 1 do, I do,” she answered. 44 Oh how I blame myself now, 
for letting this love take such hold of my heart.” 

44 My poor child,” replied the doctor, 44 do not be so fool- 
ish, as to blame yourself. Henry is as worthy of your love 
as you are of his. It was as natural that your hearts should 
turn to each other as it is for the flower to open to the sun. 
There is no one to blame, and, this being so, I wish I could 
say that there were no obstacles to your happiness.” 

44 Yes, doctor,” said Rose, 44 good and kind as Mr. Daly 
has been to me, I know well how it would wound his family 
pride to see his son married to the daughter of his stew- 
ard. Oh ! what an ingrate he would deem me, did I consent 
to such a thing. Might he not well say to me, — 4 you 
whom I nurtured in my bosom and treated as my own child, 
have I bestowed upon you education and accomplish- 
ments, but that you might be the better able to rob me of 
my son, and tarnish the honor of my family ?” ’ 

The doctor smiled, as he answered : * 4 Rose, your excited 
feelings make you unjust to yourself and others. My 
13 


194 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


old friend, Godfrey Daly, would never speak anything half 
so silly as that.” 

Rose looked up surprised. 

“ Pardon me, Rose,” continued the doctor, again smiling. 
“ Poetical if you like, but decidedly silly. If he knew of 
this love between you and Henry, (and that he has not 
foreseen it or does not now suspect it, shows how guileless 
and unsuspicious the man’s nature is) he would deem it, as 
I do, — ‘nothing but natural ;’ — and would never speak such 
nonsense as you have put into his mouth ; but though I 
say this, I will acknowledge that it would fret him ; first, 
because, like all his class, he is full of old family pride, which 
he clings to the more tenaciously as he feels pecuniary dif- 
ficulties undermining his position. Secondly, because, to 
my own knowledge, he has been thinking of late that Hen- 
ry might redeem the property by a marriage with some 
wealthy girl, — a thing, Rose, very practicable, if his affec- 
tions were disengaged. You see I speak plainly to you, my 
child. Now, as for this family pride which we have been 
talking about, Mr. Daly’s great affection for you, his almost 
idolatrous love for his son, and his anxiety to see him happy, 
are things which would quickly overcome it. He would be 
happy in witnessing the happiness of those dear to him, and 
a limited income would make little difference to one who, 
for years, had mixed so little in society. But the real, ac- 
tual difficulty is, Rose, that neither Mr. Daly or Henry are 
at present free agents. My poor friend’s affairs are in a 
frightful state ; he has gone on borrowing money from time 
to time, until I believe the property owes nearly as much 
as it is worth. His easy nature and kind heart have led, in 
a great measure, to this ; for when a bad year came, he 
would not press his tenants, although pressed himself. He 
preferred to borrow the money required, and the next year 
the tenants would pay up. But they never did so, and the 
money thus borrowed remains a blister on the property. 
The result is, that almost all his income goes now to pay 
interest, and interest upon interest. Almost all the mort- 
gages on Mr. Daly’s property are due, and nothing prevents 
the holders of them from foreclosing, bnt the idea that Hen- 
ry Daly will pay them off with his wife’s fortune, whoever 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


195 


she may be. There is O’Roarke, for instance ; the moment 
he fouud that by Henry’s marriage with you, Mr. Daly was 
deprived of all chance for redeeming his shattered fortunes, 
he would, I have no doubt, let loose his worthy brother-in- 
law at my poor friend. He never, I feel convinced, fed him 
with money as he has done, without the sinister design of 
being, perhaps, one day master of Dalystown.” 

Dr. Kelly paused and looked at Rose. She was very pale, 
but as she met his eye she said, “ go on, doctor, pray go on.” 

“ I have little more to say, my child,” replied the doctor, 
“ I have spoken to you as to a daughter, nor have I done so 
without giving myself pain. Old as I am, I can feel for your 
young heart.” 

“ May God bless you,” she replied, “ you have indeed act- 
ed the part of a true friend ; and if, after what you have 
shown to me, I hesitated to fly at once, I would be unwor- 
thy of your friendship.” 

“ You will never do aught to make you undeserving of it, 
Rose,” he answered, “ but, my brave little heart, you must 
not fly ; that is the very thing I feared, and which made me 
anxious to speak with you. Henry Daly is a fine, sensible 
yourig fellow, and a dutiful son ; but, with your permission, 
Rose, all men in love are more or less mad.” 

Rose looked at the doctor, to see if he was joking. 

“ Well, Rose,” he said, replying to her looks, “ I will mod- 
ify my expression, and say that a man in love is not always 
governed by reason, and that is much about the same thing.” 

“ I think not, doctor,” said Rose, “ becaase one has no rea- 
son to guide him, the other has, but refuses to be guided 
by it.” 

“ Well said, my little disputant,” exclaimed the doctor, 
“ But does not his refusal prove insanity ? I am glad,” he 
continued, stopping in his walk and gazing upon the beau- 
tiful, intellectual face of the girl, “ I am glad, Rose, you 
have answered me as you have, for I have now a clearer 
insight into the strength of your mind than I ever had be- 
fore. It is a fine, well regulated one, Rose. Not a girl in 
ten thousand could thus have answered, were they in your 
place, and after listening to what I have been saying to you, 
and yet it is such as you, who love for a lifetime,” 


196 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


The doctor gazed so intently at Rose, (he was an old 
man, reader, of seventy-five,) that she blushed, and turning 
to the side of the walk, commenced to pluck some sprigs 
of mignionette. 

“ I have often remarked,” mused the old man, “ this strength 
of character in those whom God had deprived in early life 
of their parents. The great Architect takes not away the 
props which support the temple, without adding to the 
strength of the temple itself.” 

Rose turned round, and as she placed the mignionette in 
the doctor’s hand she said : “ You were about to speak of 

Henry.” 

“ Yes,” he answered, I was about to say that sensible and 
dutiful as Henry is, were you to leave suddenly and return 
to England, he would, in all probability, follow you. With 
his present excited feelings, he would find plenty of ex- 
cuses to justify himself to himself, for doing so. Once he 
took such a step, who could tell what follies it might lead 
to ? No, Rose, you must remain, you and Henry must ac- 
custom yourselves to meet ; while, strong in the conscious- 
ness of performing your duty, you leave the future in the 
hands of God. For think not, my child, because your love 
is earthly, He will be unmindful of your sorrow. We can- 
not look into the future, but is it not fashioned by Him. to 
whom it is as the present ? Henry and you are both young. 
If you love each other truly and well, why, you can wait. 
If this is but the idle fancy of a boy and girl that will not 
bear the test of time, it is well it should go no further ; both 
of you are too young not to hope for bright days. So you 
see, Rose, if, like a cruel old doctor, I have been cutting 
deep into that little heart, I wish not to leave it without 
applying some salve to the wound. I will see Henry mi* 
very day, for one thing which I wish to impress upon you, 
is, that all who love Godfrey Daly, must, for a time, forget 
self, and guard him, as best they may, from the sorrows 
which are gathering around his old age. You know, Rose, 
what happiness it will give Mrs. Kelly and myself, if you 
make this“your home for some time. I see the servant com- 
ing to call us in to breakfast, run on before me, dear, your 
step is quicker than mine, and arrange those ringlets, that 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


197 


the wind has been playing with, or my wife will say that 
you and I have been romping.” 

Thus the old man made Eose precede him to the house, 
in order that she should have a few moments to herself, be- 
fore meeting the family at the breakfast table. 


CHAPTEK XYIII. 

In which TIM o’roarke sends his father a wooing for him — 

HOW HE PROSPERED — TIM PRACTICES THE ART OF LOVE WITH 
AN HUMBLE HANDMAIDEN OF HIS FATHER’S — o’rOARKE’s SKEL- 
ETON RISES BEHIND HIM. 

“ I tell you, Tim, I don’t half like this business that you 
have persuaded me to go upon. I have my misgivings that 
the old gentleman will fire up at me, and I’m mortally 
afraid to broach it at all to him.” 

Thus spoke Mr. John O’Eoarke, as he and his son sat at 
breakfast, on the same moaning that Doctor Kelly and 
Eose had the conversation recorded in the last chapter. 

It was evident that Mr. O’Eoarke was going on a special 
mission and was dressed for the occasion. He wore a black 
cloth coat, with broad skirts and a high stiff collar, that 
seemed bent on cutting oft* his red ears, a thing, by the 
way, which the common hangman should haye done years 
before. The cuffs of his sleeves were vulgarly turned up, 
as he ate his breakfast, and the creases down the back 
and in the skirts showed that it was some time since it was 
worn before ; a large shawl pattern handkerchief was 
round his neck; a black waistcoat, yellowish cassimere 
trousers, and thick boots completed his costume. His 


198 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


large red cotton handkerchief was converted, pro tem ., into 
a napkin and lay spread upon his lap, “ lest (as he said) he 
might soil his trousers,” and what between his doubts as to 
the success of the mission he had undertaken, and the 
uncomfortable feel that a vulgar man always has in new 
clothes, Mr. O’Roarke felt anything but happy. 

What was the nature of this mission ? Why, it was this : 
Prevailed upon by the importunities of Tim, and fooled by 
his own purse-proud presumption, he was about to go to 
Dalystown to ask Godfrey Daly, on the part of Tim, for the 
hand of his child. Such a thought never would have come 
into O’Roarke’s mind if the jackanapes vanity of Tim had 
not suggested it to him. We have seen, on the first occasion 
of his sons’s alluding to the matter, how contemptuously 
he treated his pretensions ; but Tim kept harping on the 
subject until, as it became familiar to his father’s mind, it 
appeared attainable. Godfrey Daly was in his power ; he 
had the screw on him, as Tim observed. 

“Aye, and could turn it, until he squeezed the very 
blood out of his heart.” u What will not a man do in such 
a position ? Much more than he was going to ask of Mr. 
Daly; for was not he (O’Roarke,) a magistrate and an 
estated gentleman ? He would not ask that the girl should 
bring one penny to his son ; on the contrary, he was will- 
ing to give up the mortgage he held on the property, if the 
old man would consent to the match ; faith, some people 
would say that the compliment was on his side.” 

Thus argued Mr. John O’Roarke, over and over in his 
own mind, and such reasoning did much to assist Tim in 
getting his father to undertake his love mission ; but now, 
as he was about to set out, his confidence became shaken, 
and the purse-proud buckeen feared the scornful look with 
which his proposal might be received by the ruined gen- 
tleman. 

' a I don t half like this business,” repeated O’Roarke, “ but 
I suppose it must be gone through. Hand me the taypot, 
Tim.” 

u Tea, guvner.” 

“ Eh ?” queried O’Roarke. 

“ Tea, not tay, is the proper word, guvner,” replied Tim. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


199 


“By Jove, father, you must polish up a little, if I make this 
connection.” 

“ Blast you and your polishing,” was the parental rejoin- 
der. “ I tell you Tim, as I told you before, that I am too old 
to learn. So do you manage the line airs and the line talk, 
and leave me as I am.” 

“ Oh, don’t be vexed, dad,” replied Tim, who was far from 
wishing to anger his father, just now. “ I was only joking. 
But why should you think that there is any chance of old 
Daly refusing your offer ? You said, but two nights ago, 
that he would be mad to do so.” r 

“ And I say so still. If I could but get him to look at 
this matter like a sensible man of business, I would be able 
to show him, easy enough, that it was more for his advan- 
tage than for mine. But it is that Devil’s pride, which all 
he has gone through could never quench, in his eyes, that 
is against us, and it is that which I dread.” 

“Well, sir,” replied Tim, “ can’t you take that out of him 
by asking for your money ?” 

“ Faith, Tim,” said O’Roarke, with a heavy smile, “ you have 
more brains than I gave you credit for. Let me alone for 
that, my boy. I’ll ask him for the money first, and then 
for the wife.” And he laughed ; the very mention of his 
money had revived his assurance. 

“But suppose Daly ahould consent, Tim,” said O’Roarke, 
suddenly, as a new idea occurred to him, one indeed of such 
minor importance, in his mind, that he suggested it now 
more to see what answer Tim would make, than to satisfy, 
any uneasiness he himself might have had on the subject. — 
“ Suppose Daly does give his consent, maybe the girl her- 
self will not be willing to have you.” 

“Why, what objection can she have?” asked Tim, with 
an indescribable look of vain folly on his face. 

“ By dad, Tim,” replied his father, “ you won’t undervalue 
your pigs, when you bring them to market.” 

“I don’t see that it does a man any good to do it either,” 
said Tim. 

“ You’re right there, my boy, love is sharpening your 
wits, Tim.” 

“ You see, dad,” said Tim, quite elated at his father’s recog- 


200 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


nition of his possessing any brains, a thing which the elder 
O’Roarke seemed, heretofore, skeptical about, 44 I have con- 
sidered the matter over. If Mr. Daly consents to the match, 
he will say : 4 My dear O’Roarke, let your son speak for 

himself, to my daughter, he shall have my good wishes. 
Let the young people get together/ and so on. Then, guv- 
ner, you lay off and I take up the running. I go to Dalys- 
town, throw myself at Emily Daly’s feet, declare my pas- 
sion, stab myself ” 

44 Stab yourself?” exclaimed his father. 

44 No, no, — threaten to stab myself. I read all about it in 
a novel. Then I” 

44 Stop, Tim,” you confuse me by such balderdash, and I 
am confused enough already. One thing you are right in ; 
all I have to do in the matter is to try and get Daly’s con- 
sent. Do you manage the girl as you think best, but mind, 
avick, you don’t spoil your part by too many outlandish 
airs.” 

“ But, dad,” said Tim, 44 if you and the old gentleman come 
to terms, you must get him to prepare Miss Daly to receive 
me — kindly, mind you. She will do anything he tells her, 
and it would be just as well if you could delicately hint to 
him to let her know all about the money he owes you, it 
would help to humble her, for she has, when she likes, a 
deuced cold, proud look in those blue eyes of hers, that I’d 
just as soon not meet, when offering my heart and hand. 
’Pon honor, it would take me quite aback, and I don’t know 
but that I would be half inclined to — to ” — 

“ Stab yourself,” suggested his father. 

44 No, faith,” innocently answered Tim, “but to turn tail 
and run away.” 

“ I suppose that’s what you call 4 taking up the running ?’ ” 
said O’Roarke, putting the red napkin to its legitimate use, 
and then into his pocket. 44 But the whole trouble will be 
to get the father to consent. The girl will be said by him, 
for I am told she is bidable enough. Go and get the gig 
round. Is Mike Shaughnesy ready ?” 

“Yes sir.” 

44 Tell him he needn’t mind the blunderbuss, the pistols 
will do. W e’ll be home early and I’d as soon not have a gun 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN- 


201 


standing up in the gig before the door at Dalystown. Did 
you see Skrgeant Murphy, yesterday?” 
r “ I did, sir.” 

“Well, what did he say about the state of the country?” 

“ He said things were quiet enough now, but he thinks 
it only a calm before a storm.” 

u Can he find out anything about their going-qns lately ?” 

“ No, but he thinks he knows one that will soon turn an 
informer.” 

“ What’s the reason, does he say, the government 
don’t send down more police to this part of the country ?” 

“He says the government, he supposes, doesn’t think 
things are ripe enough yet.” 

“Aye,” said O’Roarke, “ that’s the way with them always ; 
they let those disturbances run on until men are shot 
down at their own doors ; upon my conscience I believe 
they encourage this business underhand, for some purposes 
of their own.” 

Well guessed, Mr. O’Roarke, and quite true, and if a few 
scoundrels, like you, are shot, why, all the better. As 
Tim says, “ you lay off, and the government takes up the 
running,” and amid the yells of Exeter Hall, the mouth- 
ings of parliament and claptrap regrets of a royal speech, 
it commences to slay, hang and transport the unfortunate 
people, who, backed by unjust, .oppressive laws, you were 
enabled to rob, starve and trample upon, until murder 
itself lost its dark name and was called, even by the good, 
“ the wild justice of revenge .” 

But though O’Roarke dispensed with his blunderbuss on 
his matrimonial visit to Dalystown, he took special care to 
arm himself with sundry bills, bonds, and mortgages, with 
which he resolved to commence his attack on Godfrey Daly. 
It must not be supposed that O’Roarke was a man to take 
all this trouble, and to forfeit money besides, merely to 
please his son ; no such thing. Now that he was led to 
believe it feasible, he was far more interested in the suc- 
cess of his mission than Tim himself. He was now a rich 
man and could afford to give up plundering the poor. He 
wanted to become a respectable man, and be permitted to 
enjoy his plunder in peace. He was getting old, too, and 


202 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


tired of being hated. Tim’s marriage wijth Emity Daly 
would give both father and son caste in the country. Peo- 
ple would not be so apt to sneer at the pretensions of God- 
frey Daly’s son-in-law as they were now at those of 
O’Roarke’s son ; and if the peasantry never could be got to 
respect O’Roarke himself, yet they would be apt to let him 
live in peace, and pass him by without a curse, for the love 
they bore the Dalystown family. Yes ! Emily Daly, under 
his roof, would be a better protection than a file of sol- 
diers. 

After his father had left, Tim amused himself for some 
time dancing, about the room, stopping now and then to 
address the invisible Emily in very flowery language. 
After a little, he bethought that he had better dress him- 
self “ in tip top style,” not knowing how soon a special 
messenger might arrive to summon him to her presence. 
Accordingly he returned to his room, which was off the one 
in which he and his father had breakfasted, and commenced 
to saturate his head with oil — then he nearly strangled 
himself with “ a flare up ” satin scarf. His toilet was not 
half completed when the servant girl came into the outer 
room to take away the breakfast things. 

Mr. O’Roarke kept but one servant maid, so the girl had 
not alone to act as cook, housemaid, &c., but likewise to 
attend to the raising and feeding of several flocks of geese, 
turkeys and chickens, and she had just been in the act of 
feeding the latter with a compound of cabbage leaves, po- 
tato skins and kitchen stuff, which she carried to them in 
her apron, when, on seeing her master take his departure, 
she hurried to make up the parlor, not deeming it at all 
necessary to take off the soiled apron before doing so. 

When Tim heard her bustling about the room, a bright 
idea struck him, he would make Biddy personate Emily 
Daly, and practice the love speech he had prepared for that 
young lady’s ear. So, without waiting to finish his toilet,' 
he hurried into the parlor. 

“ Come here, Biddy,” said he “and leave by that brush.” 

“ What do you want wid me ?” said the girl, keeping on 
her guard, for Tim was in the habit of trying to romp with 
her in his father’s absence. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


203 


“ I want to make love to you, for a few minutes, Biddy,” 
replied Tim. 

u Bad ’cess to your impudence. Faith, I’ll lave the house, 
if you carry on so. Stand back, I tell you, or, by my soul, 
I’ll open your head with the brush.” 

Here Tim made a sudden jump, and avoiding a blow Bid- 
dy let fly at him, caught her round the waist. 

“ Let me out,” cried the girl, now thoroughly roused to an- 
ger, “ let me out you dirty omedhawn, or it will be worse 
for you ; do you want to tear the bits of duds off my back ? 
Let me out, I say. Listen to my gown tearing ; faith, it’s 
long afore you’d think of buying me one.” 

“ Listen to me, Biddy,” pleaded Tim, still detaining her. 
u ’Pon« honor, I don’t mean any harm. I don’t want you, 
Biddy, to be yourself at all.” 

“And who the dickens do you want me to be ? Faith, I 
believe it’s taking iave of your senses, you are.” 

“ No, Biddy, but if you listen quietly for a moment, I will 
explain what I want you to do, and,’pon honor, I’ll buy you 
a new gown the next day I go to T .” 

The girl stopped struggling to listen to Tim. 

“ I only want you, Biddy,” he continued, “ to sit down on 
that chair, and let me make love to you.” 

Here Biddy gave a great swing, and Tim hurriedly added: 

“Not to yourself at all, Biddy, but to a young lady that 
I am going to ask to marry me, and you’re to be her, that 
is, you’re to stand for her, — no, to sit for her, while I am 
saying to you — that is to her, — what I am to say to you — no, 
but to her. Do you understand me ?” 

“Partly,” she answered, looking at him. 

“ Faith, I believe you are going to coort; you’re dressed 
to the nines. Well, if I sit dowai to please you, mind you’re 
to behave yourself.” 

“ Honor bright, ” said Tim. 

“ And not be catching hoult of me,” bargained Biddy. 

“ Unless your hand,” answered Tim. 

“ Nor trying to hug me.” 

“I might be impelled to kiss you.” 

“Let me out,” exclaimed Biddy “the dickens a kiss ever 
you’ll give me.” 


204 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ But, Biddy, it would be in the most respectful manner,” 
urged Tim. 

“ Oh, a kiss is a kiss,” answered the girl, who was now be- 
ginning to be amused by his folly. 

“ W ell, I suppose I may kiss your hand.” 

“ Oh, you may kiss my hand and welcome,” she replied, 
“ it’s accustomed to dirty work. And upon your sowl you’ll 
give me the new gown.” 

“ ’Pon honor.” 

“Well, let go av me, and I’ll sit down, but don’t keep me 
long, for I have a power of work to do.” 

Biddy accordingly seated herself on a chair ; but, owing 
to his tussle with her, Tim’s ideas had become a little con- 
fused. So he walked about the room for a few moments, to 
collect his thoughts, the girl meanwhile regarding him with 
a look full of mirth. At length he placed a chair next to 
her’s and sat down. 

“ Ahem, — ahem,” said Tim. 

“There’s a spit in your throat, jewel,” said Biddy. 

“ Stop, Biddy,” exclaimed Tim, “ you are not to speak at 
all, or you will put me out. Ahem ! Dearest, turn those 
lovely eyes, let them gaze into this poor heart and see how 
your image fills it, from the basement to the upper story.” 

“ Faith, I never thought there was up stairs in a body's 
heart afore,” said Biddy. 

“ There are chambers, Biddy,” replied Tim. 

“ But maybe they’re all on the ground floore, love,” said 
Biddy. 

“For heaven’s sake stop !” cried Tim. ’Pon honor you’ll 
not get the gown unless you keep quiet. By this lily hand 
I swear, that if you will bestow it upon me, I will cherish it 
like — like ” — 

“ Young cabbages,” suggested Miss Dal y,pro tem. 

“ Like — like anything,” said Tim, bothered for a simile. 

“ Ah, Miss Daly,” he continued, — “ dare I call you Emily? 
Yes, by jingo, I will. Emily? Ha, your hand trembles, 
(so it did, for Biddy was shaking with laughter.) You will 
be mine ? Behold me on my knees. I bow my head to hear 
you say What the devil is that ?” cried Tim, splutter- 

ing and jumping up, while Biddy, springing up likewise, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


205 


ran until she got the table between herself and Miss Daly’s 
would-be lover, when, placing her hands upon her sides, 
she shouted with laughter. 

The reason of this abrupt termination to Tim’s love 
scene was, that in his excitement he had buried his face in 
Biddy’s lap, from whence he quickly withdrew it, covered 
with particles of cabbage leaves and potato skins which 
had remained on the girl’s apron. 

“ I say, what the devil’s on my face ?” exclaimed Tim. 

“It’s the chicken pox you tuck from my apron, love,” 
replied Biddy ; “ oh, holy Saint Patrick, look at his face,” 
and she went off into another and another peal of laughter. 

Tim hurried into the next room and the girl made her 
escape to the kitchen, but even at that distance he could 
hear her laughter, as he endeavored to remove from his 
satin scarf the many stains that Biddy’s chicken pox had 
given to it. 

“ And so,” soliloquized Biddy, when she was weary of 
laughing, “its Miss Emily Daly you’d be putting your 
comehither on. Na boclish ma bouchel * its not come to 
that yet, for the dove to lie in the jackdaw’s nest. I wonder 
will he give me the gown ? Sarra gown ! Sure none of his 
breed ever kept their word with a poor body.” 

When O’Roarke arrived at Dalystown he was shown into 
the study, where Mr. Daly was at the time. Doctor Kelly 
had arrived a short time previously, and he and Henry 
had walked out together. When O'Roarke entered the 
rooip, Mr. Daly’s face flushed for a moment, and then grew 
a shade paler than it was before. He arose politely to re- 
ceive his visitor. 

« Beautiful weather, Mr. Daly, for this time of year,” said 
O’Roarke, as he took the chair the former motioned him to, 
“ I hope all the family are well, sir ?” 

« Quite well, thank you, O’Roarke.” 

« Oh, ah ! what would be the matter with young people, 
and how do you enjoy your own health, sir? But I needn’t 
ask you, you’re looking hearty and well.” 

Mr. Daly smiled, for he did not believe that he looked 
very hearty at that moment. 


* Never mind, my boy. 


206 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 




“I do not complain, O’Roarke,” he replied a and that 
is the most yon can expect from an old man.” 

“ An old man,” exclaimed the other, “ do you hear how 
he talks.” 

This last observation was seemingly addressed to the fire 
shovel. 

“You’re anything but an old man ; I’d just as leave have 
your name in a lease as my son Tim’s.” 

“You are unusually complimentary, O’Roarke.” 

“Not a bit of it, sir ; I don’t know anything about compli- 
ments ; I’m a plain man, Mr. Daly, but I ever and always 
had a great regard for yourself and your family.” 

“ Then your friendship deceives y ou/’said Mr. Daly, again 
smiling. 

“ Ay,” answered] O’Koarke, “ I have my friendships and 
dislikes, like others.” 

There was an awkward pause of a few moments. Mr Daly, 
had no doubt but that O’Koarke’s visit was connected with 
money matters, and was nervously anxious for its termina- 
tion. 

“ You will take a glass of wine after your drive, O’Koarke,” 
he said. 

“ Not a drop, Mr. Daly ; I thank you, I never touch a drop 
before dinner, Sir.” 

This was a very usual remark of Mr. O’Roarke’s just be- 
fore touching a stronger drink than wine, so Mr. Daly 
paid little attention to it, but pulled the bell and ordered 
the servant who answered his summons, to bring in some 
wine and glasses. 

“ Where is Mr. Henry?” he asked of the man, as the lat- 
ter was leaving the room, 

“ He and Doctor Kelly are gone out to walk, sir,”- the 
servant answered. 

“ Doctor Kelly,” said Mr. Daly, when did he arrive ?” 

“About an hour ago, sir,’ and he and Mr. Henry went out 
shortly after.” 

“Very well, James, bring the wine. I suppose,” contin 
ued Mr. Daly, addressing O’Koarke, “the doctor had to 
make a professional call in the neighborhood, and brought 
Henry along with him.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 207 

“Just so, sir,” replied O’Roarke, “Faith, they send for 
Doctor Kelly when they’re no more sick than I am.” 

“ Why so ?” asked Mr. Daly. 

“J ust to knock something out of him,” answered O’Roarke. 

“ I hope you are wrong, sir,” said Mr. Daly. “ It would 
be altogether an unnecessary piece of deception. It does 
not require much knocking to bring the doctor’s heart out 
of doors.” 

“ Oh, the doctor, no doubt, is a tenderhearted gentleman,” 
replied O’Roarke. “ I’m told, sir, that Mr. Henry has got 
to be a great man of business. How does he find the ten- 
ants ?” 

“ I believe they are willing enough to pay their rents,” 
replied Mr. Daly, “ but they have been sadly neglected by 
myself. I allowed them to crowd in too much on the land.” 

“ Ay, that was a great mistake,” said O’Roarke. 

“Yet what could I do,” continued Mr. Daly, standing up 
and walking about the room, “ driven as they were from 
house and home by ?” 

He stopped, for the chief exterminator of those poor peo- 
ple was before him. O’Roarke felt why it was that Mr. Daly 
had so suddenly paused, and it was a relief to both when 
the servant entered with the wine. 

“ Come O’Roarke,” said Mr. Daly, filling up a glass, “ I 
think you will find this good.” 

“Well as you had the trouble of filling it out, Mr. Daly, I 
believe I will. Here’s your good health, sir.” 

“Thank you. Did you come direct from home to-day ?” 

“ I did, sir, I wanted to see you on a little business.” 

Mr. Daly nodded his head ; he wished him to speak out 
at once. This beating about the bush was intolerable to 
him. 

“ You know, sir, that the interest on the mortgage will be 
due next month,” said O’Roarke. 

“Yes, but I have six weeks afterwards within which to 
pay it.” 

“Ay,” answered O’Roarke, “by paying an additional one- 
per-cent, and if the money is handy it will be as well to 
keep down the interest ; but that won’t make any difference 
between us. If it was any one but yourself that had the 


208 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


money, I’d call it in, now that the time for paying it has ex- 
pired, for I’d like to have it so that I could put my hand on 
it, in case I got a chance to buy some more land. You see, 
sir, my son, Tim, is a grown-up young man, and I’d like to 
see him settled in a place of his own, and doing for himself.” 

“ I thought I would have had your money for you before 
this,” replied Mr. Daly. “My son, when last in Dublin, 
was negotiating with a gentleman for the loan of a sum that 
would have paid you and some others of my creditors, but 
for some reason that Henry is ignorant of, the matter was 
suddenly broken off.” 

“ Ay, ’twas unlucky,” said O’Roarke, “ I wouldn’t mind 
how long you had the money, but that I am anxious to set- 
tle the boy. Do you think, Mr. Daly, you could manage to 
raise as much as would pay off the bond I hold for two thous- 
and pounds.” 

“ Why, replied the other, that money was not to be called 
in for four years, if I am not mistaken, and but two of them 
have, as yet, expired.” 

“You’re right enough, sir,” answered O’Roarke, “ I have 
the bond with me and can look at the date.” 

As he spoke, he pulled out of his large pocket a lot of 
papers and commenced to look over them. 

“It is unnecessary,” replied Mr. Daly, “you surely did 
not expect that I could pay you to-day, that you brought 
all these papers wdth you ?” 

“No, Mr. Daly, but as I came to speak on business, I 
thought I’d bring them along, they’re handy. You see, the 
reason I mentioned the bond was, that if you could pay it, 
say in three months, the mortgage might stand out. I’m 
not greedy for the money, by no manner of means, and I’d 
as soon leave it all standing out as not, but, as I told you 
before, I want to settle the boy. He’s a good, dutiful son, 
Mr. Daly, though I say it.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, O’Roarke,” replied Mr. Daly, « but 
I will not deceive you by saying that I have any hope of 
being able to pay you even a portion of your principal, 
within three months. I had even half resolved to ask you 
for time for the payment of the interest, so pressed am I 
just now, for money. After a little, perhaps, Henry may 
do something.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


209 


“Ay,” replied O’Roarke, “ Mr. Henry is a fine young man, 
and will get a lady with a large fortune one of these days. 
You see, sir, that’s why I want to buy a little property for 
Tim. I want him to get married and to have something of 
his own to settle on his wife. To be sure, when I am gone, 
he’ll have all.” 

Mr. Daly bowed. 

“ I know that Tim might get a wife any day,” continned 
O’Roarke, as he glanced from time to time at Mr. Daly, 
watching the expression of the latter’s countenance, while 
he unmasked, by degrees, the real object of his visit, “ but 
it is not every girl that would please me, Mr. Daly.” 

Mr. Daly again bowed. 

“I’ll be bound,” continued O’Roarke, “if I sent him up 
to Dublin he’d soon get one, with money too. But I don’t 
want one of that kind. — I don’t want him to bring home to 
me a stranger. The wife that I wish is one that is known 
in the country, one who will bring him respect. Yes, let 
him bring me such a one, and I’ll never ask if she had the 
marriage money. Ay, I’d do more. The mortgage and the 
bond we were just talking about, make up together, a round 
sum ; well, I’d put them both into the fire, Mr. Daly, if 1 
got my own choosing of a w T ife for Tim.” 

He stopped and filled himself out a glass of wine. Ashe 
drank it off he looked askant at Mr. Daly, to note the effect 
* of this broad hint, but O’Roarke was but a bungler at read- 
ing the human countenance, and Mr. Daly’s now entirely de- 
ceived him, — its expression was abstracted and thoughtful,, 
Tim’s future prospects having no share in his thoughts. 
O’Roarke perceived the care-worn shadow that rested on his 
face, and mistook it for the struggle of pride, with hard ne- 
cessity. He thought if he followed up the attack he would 
be sure of victory. “ Strike while the iron is hot,” was a 
favorite expression of liis. 

“Yes, Mr. Daly,” he continued as he laid down the glass, 
and struck the table with his large hand, “say but the 
word, and mortgage, bond and all go into the fire.” 

“ Say what, O’Roarke ?” asked Mr. Daly starting from his 
reverie. 

“ Oh, sure you know well what I mean. Give me Miss 

14 


210 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTUvvN. 


Daly, for a wife ior Tim, and I’ll give yon a clear receipt 
for every penny you owe me, — ay, and settle something 
handsome on the young lady besides.” 

Mr. Daly started from his chair. 

“ God of heaven,” lie exclaimed, “ are we so fallen indeed ? 
What, has it come to this, that you, sir, presume to come 
into this house, to ask me to sell my child to you ? Not a 
word, sir,” he said stamping on the ground, as he saw 
O’Roarke about to speak, “not a word until you hear me. So 
it was for this you came here to-day, armed with your bpnds 
and mortgages ! You would show me how much I was in 
your power, and then expect, that to escape from it, I would 
sell to you my child. Now, hear my answer: So help me 
heaven, I would sooner see my daughter, I will hot say 
dead, that would be as nothing, but, rather than that she 
should become your son’s wife, I would take her by the hand, 
and with a wallet on my back, beg our bread from door to 
door.” 

These two men formed a fine contrast at this moment. 
Mr. Daly, tall and erect, as in his youth ; his lips compressed, 
his eyes flashing, the hot blood of his race glowing in his 
furrowed cheek. O’Roarke, cowering beneath those words 
of passionate scorn, his head bent, his thick lips quivering, 
his whole countenance livid with the passion he feared to 
give utterance to, — a beast of prey, longing, yet fearing to 
spring upon his victim. * 

At length he spoke, but without raising his head : 

“ I didn’t come here, sir, to insult you, or to be insulted 
myself ; I came to ask ior my money, — that’s why I brought 
these papers. 1 suppose a man has a right to ask for his 
own.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Daly, “ you have a right to ask for 
your money, and if I am unable to pay you, you have an 
equal right to sell my property. It is on my lands, sir, your 
claims are. Look at your bonds, you will find nothing in 
them whereby I am obliged to sacrifice my own honor, or 
the happiness of my child.” 

“Well, sir,” said O’Roarke, “ there’s no harm done. Of 
course, Mr. Daly.youdl not blame me after this for looking 
for my own the best way I can.” 

r 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


211 


“Go sir, go,” replied Godfrey Daly, “and do your worst. 
I know you, I see. in your face this moment the malice that 
fills your heart; but I care not! Possess yourself of my 
lands, my house, — all, everything, and the distance between 
us shall still remain the same ; look you th&t you never 
again presume to try and lessen it.” 

As Mr. Daly concluded, O’Roarke arose, and, without 
uttering a word, or raising his eyes, he made an awkward 
bow, and left the room. Almost choked with rage, he hur. 
ried to his gig, in which one of his bailiffs sat, and taking 
the reins out of the man’s hands, drove off at a furious pace. 
It was well for Tim that his father had to drive some miles 
before meeting with him, for the first outburst of his rage 
was directed against his son. 

“ The cursed jackanapes,” he muttered through his closed 
teeth, u to make me suffer such shame, — to make me as great 
a fool as himself. Mightn’t I know the way it would be? 

But, by , Godfrey Daly, we’ll try now who will have 

the best of the game. Ill write this very day to Lyons. 
He’s only watching to get at him this many a day.” 

“What’s the matter, master,” said the fellow who sat be- 
side him. 

O’Roarke turned round and scowled at the man, for he 
was unconscious that he had given his thoughts utterance; 
then striking his horse two or three times heavily with the 
whip, he drove on in silence. There were a number of 
ornamental clumps of trees in the Dalystown park, and when 
O’Roarkc’s gig had passed one of these, which stood close to 
the avenue, a ipan jumped out, and, muttering a curse, shook 
his hand after the retreating vehicle. It was Bryan Lorkin, 
the same man whom we have seen in the Ribbon lodge, vol- 
unteering to shoot O’Roarke. 

Doctor Kelly and Henry Daly, as they returned to the 
house, recognized O’Roarke as he drove from the door, and 
not wishing to meet him, they walked on, keeping the trees 
between themselves and him; so when Lorkin jumped out, 
they were quite close to the latter. 

“Is not that Bryan Lorkin, Henry?” said Doctor Kelly.” 

“Yes,” replied his companion, “what can he have been 
doing in there ; see how he shakes his hand after O’Roarke.” 


212 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Yes,” said the doctor, “ he has good cause to do so. I have 
been looking for this man for some time. The last time I 
spoke with him, I thought he seemed affected in his mind. 
He is just the one for lawless men to make a dangerous tool 
of. You know his story, Henry ?” 

“Yes, doctor.” 

“ It is a sad one enough, continued Doctor Kelly. “ My 
God, what a wreck it has made of him ! You must remember 
him, yourself, Henry, a fine looking fellow. Hallo Bryan,” 
called the doctor, “ come here.” 

So intently was the man watching O’Roarke’s retreating 
figure that he did not perceive the two gentlemen advanc- 
ing. At the sound of the doctor's voice he turned round, 
and seemed inclined to make a hasty retreat, but the doctor 
again called out, this time in a more peremptory tone of 
voice, 

“Do you hear, Bryan? Come here, I wish to speak with 
you.” 

The man slowly advanced, and took off his hat. 

“ What has come over you, Bryan,” said the doctor, “ you 
looked as if you were going to run away from me.” 

The man fixed his sunken eyes upon the doctor’s face, and 
the stern, almost demon expression of his looks softened, as 
he replied, more to his own thoughts than to the doctor’s 
remark, 

“You did your best to bring her through, and sure you 
thought she was doing well. Them were your very words, 
doctor, I mind them well. But you didn’t bargain for the 
wet ditch and the cold rain ; they were too many for you doc- 
tor, clever as you are. By dad, Mr. Henry, they bet him 
clever and clean.” And he gave a bitter laugh. 

Who could describe the agony of that laugh, or how pain- 
fully it fell upon the ears of his listeners, sickening their very 
hearts. 

“Come up to the house, Bryan,” said Henry Daly, “the 
doctor wants to speak to you and he can do so as we walk 
along.” 

“ It wouldn’t be the first time for me to do that same, sir,” 
he replied, “ but sure the dogs would bark at the likes of me 
was I to go up there now.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


213 


“ Leave him to me,” whispered the doctor to Henry. “ Bry- 
an,” he said aloud, “you remember when your wife took 
sick?” 

“ Oh voh,” exclaimed Lorkin. 

u Well,” continued the doctor, “ before her senses left her, 
I promised her that if she died I would be a friend to you. 
You know I have tried to keep that promise, but you would 
never let me. You avoid me, and go wandering about the 
country until you are half crazed. Is this right of you ? Are 
you not putting yourself against God that sent the sorrow 
to your door ?” 

• “ It wasn’t God, doctor, it was O’Roarke.” 

“ How dare you tell me so, Bryan Lorkin ?” answered the 
doctor. “ Do you not know that all the O’Koarkes in the 
world could not do it, unless God allowed them ? and do you 
not think that if Mary could know the way you are going 
on, it would fret her to see the state you have brought your- 
self to.” 

“ O yes, doctor,” he replied, “ I often think of that, but any- 
how, they say there is never rest for them that’s murdered, 
as long as the murderer remains alive.” 

“ What stuffis this you have got into your head, Bryan?” 
said the doctor, as he closely watched the expression of the 
man’s eyes. Why are you talking about murders and mur- 
derers, in this way ?” Your wife died of a fever that car- 
ried off hundreds at the same time.” 

“Whisht, doctor,” he replied in almost angry tones, 
“ she was murdered, and you know she was,- — murdered be- 
fore my eyes. Didn’t I see the cold rain beating on her 
heart, and him that did it is gone down there, rolling in his 
gig. Well, well, th?re’s a God above us all.” 

“ Bryan,” proceeded the doctor, “ I hear that of late you 
have been seen very often in the company of a man of the 
name of Maloney, a fellow that no one knows where he 
came from, and one, too, that does not bear a very good char- 
acter.” 

“ See that, Dow,” said Lorkin ; “ by dad, doctor, I did not 
think any one would mind who the likes of me would keep 
company with. Faith then, doctor dear, that same Malo- 
ney has fine talk of his own about the wrongs of Ireland.” 


214 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Just as I supposed,” said Dr. Kelly, turning to Henry, 
“some villainous incendiary. I must speak to your father 
about this. Where are you going to, Bryan ?” 

The man had commenced to move off. — “ By dad, doctor, 
I promised poor Mary’s brother to go to him this week, to 
help him with the plowing, and it’s a good bit from this.” 

“ What were you doing in the plantation there ?” 

“ Weden, never a haporth but looking for a boltheen for 
my flail. Mr. Daly, long life to him, never hinders one from 
cutting a stick.” 

“ You are sure, Bryan, that it is to your brother-in-law’s 
you are going? You would not tell me a lie, I hope.” 

“ No, doctor, on my sowl it is there I am goin.” 

“ And when will you return ?” 

“ Maybe in a fortnight, doctor, tne plowing won’t be over 
much sooner. When will the races be, Mr. Henry ?” 

“ In about three weeks, I think, Bryan,” answered Henry. 

“Well, I must be back to them, anyhow.” 

“ Why, Bryan,” said the doctor, “ what do you want at 
the races ?” 

“Musha then nothing, doctor,” he replied, “I only said 
that to make you and Mr. Henry laugh.” 

“ Bryan,” said Dr. Kelly, “ I want to get some plowing 
done ; I know that you are a good hand at the plow, will 
you promise to come to me when you return from your 
brother-in-law’s ?” 

“ I will, doctor. Sure it’s the only work I can do now ; 
for may I never sin, gentlemen, but when I do be in the 
field alone, Mary comes with the weeny child in her arms, 
and walks up and down the whole length of the furrow with 
me, and I discoorse her, and that keeps me quiet at the 
work.” 

Henry and the doctor exchanged glances. “ I wish, Bry- 
an,” said the latter, “ you would come home at once with 
me.” 

“'Oh honor bright, doctor,” he replied, “you wouldn’t 
have me to break my word to Mary’s brother, and him want- 
ing me so much. See now, if I didn’t leave the boltheen I 
cut after me. I must go for it.” 

“Well, Bryan, I won’t detain you any longer,” said the doc- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


215 


tor, u if you promise before Mr. Henry Daly here, that 
when you are done at your brother-in-law’s, you will come 
to me.” 

“ I will, doctor. After the races, av I’m alive, I will be 
with you.” 

“ Very well. Good morning, Bryan.” 

“God speed you both, gentlemen,” said the peasant, tak- 
ing off his hat. 

The doctor and Henry resumed their walk towards the 
house, whilst Lorkin, jumping into the clump, came out on 
the opposite side, and crossed the park with long strides. 

“That man must be looked after, Henry,” said Dr. Kelly. 
“ He is just mad enough to make him dangerous. On my 
word, were I O’Roarke, I would not feel very easy with such 
a neighbor. Let me see, he will return about the race week 
from his brother-in-law’s. I suppose that was what he 
meant, when he asked you when they would take place. 
He is safe enough while he remains there, and I will take 
care not to lose sight of him after he returns.” 

As the two gentlemen approached the house, they were 
met by a servant, who told them that Mr. Daly had been in- 
quiring for them, and wished to see them in his study. So, 
without resuming their conversation, they quickened their 
steps and soon entered the house. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

In which doctor kelly shows how positive he may be at 

TIMES. — THE DOCTOR AT HOME. — ROSE O’DONNELL AGAIN 
LEAVES DALYSTOWN. 

When O’Roarke left the room, Mr. Daly sunk into a seat, 
and, resting his elbow on the table, shaded his face with his 


216 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


hand. There are times when the body is predisposed to 
take disease ; there are times, too, when the mind, which 
has struggled bravely with a sea of trouble, will be prostrat- 
ed by the tiny wave, which scarcely leaves a ripple on the 
shore ; and there are men whose steps to the grave are 
marked, not by years, but by the events those years bring 
forth. When Godfrey Daly again raised his head, his face 
was haggard and pale, and, as he arose from his seat, he 
laid his hand heavily on the chair, as if he needed its sup- 
port. Moving with a weary step, he rang the bell, and when 
a servant entered he said : 

“Have Mr. Henry and Doctor Kelly as yet returned?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“When they do so, tell them I wish to see them here.” 

When the servant retired, Mr. Daly went over to one of 
the windows and gazed out upon the noble park that lay 
stretched before him. What intense sorrow and love filled 
the old man’s heart, as he thus looked and thought upon 
his ancestral home. There were old black thorn bushes 
scattered here and there through the park, which a Yankee 
speculator would have grubbed out while the old woman 
and Bob were hitching up the horses, that Mr. Daly would 
not have disturbed for a whole forest of trees. As his eyes 
ranged over the familiar scene, he called to mind proud old 
family traditions, ranging from a remote period up to the 
time when he himself became the head of his house, thus 
linking the past with the present. 

“I shall not live to see a stranger here,” he said. “ It is 
too much a part of my being, to allow me to outlive its loss. 

I am almost foolish enough to suppose that the old place 
would mourn for us, and could not look the same in other 
hands. Ah, here comes Henry and the doctor. — My noble 
boy,” he added, as he turned from the window. 

. When the two gentlemen entered Mr. Daly’s study, they 
saw, at a glance, that something unusual had affected him. 

“ How are you, Godfrey ?” said the doctor, as he shook 
hands with him. 

“ Quite well, thank you, doctor,” replied Mr. Daly. 

“ Quite well ?” said the other, “ By Jove I think not; your 
hand is feverish. Has anything disturbed you ?” 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 217 

“ O’Roarke has been here, father,” said Henry. “ What 
did he want?” 

“ Either of two things, Henry. His money, or the hand 
of your sister, for his son, Tim.” 

“ What !” cried Henry, starting in amazement, 44 the pre- 
sumptuous scoundrel. Had I been here I would have kicked 
him out of the house.” 

The doctor looked at Henry. 

“It is not pride, doctor, which makes me say this,” con- 
tinued the latter. u If the son of a poor, honest peasant 
asked my sister’s hand, I believe I could give him a civil 
answer ; but that the purse-proud upstart, who has raised 
himself, if raised you can call it, from the lowest dregs, by 
sycophancy, robbery, and injustice, should have such pre- 
sumption, is more than I can bear. What did you say to 
him, father?” 

Mr. Daly repeated the conversation that had passed be- 
tween them. 

“ You must not blame me, doctor,” he concluded, 44 for 
not being milder with O’Roarke, knowing myself to be so 
much in his power,” 

44 It made little matter, Godfrey,” replied Doctor Kelly, 
44 in what kind of language your refusal was conveyed, he 
would have felt it all the same, and will watch for an op- 
portunity to be revenged for the humiliation it has caused 
him. I believe, upon my honor, it was better of the two 
to have done it with a high hand, it may somewhat cow the 
fellow. It was unfortunate that such a whim should have 
got into his head ; it must have been that fool, Tim, who 
placed it there.” 

14 If I thought it was Tim who sent his father here,” said 
Henry, 44 1 would bring Tom Gallaher to Lake View, and 
make him horsewhip the puppy opposite his own door.” 

44 Do so, Henry,” said the doctor, laughing, 44 and I prom- 
ise to act afterwards as Tom’s friend. Come, Godfrey, the 
fellow has cast you down too much. I wish you would get 
into a fine, healthy passion, like my friend Henry, here.” 
“Doctor,” replied Mr. Daly, 44 1 am a ruined man.” 

44 What ! because you would not give Emily to O’Roarke ?” 
“No, doctor. Did O’Roarke stand alone, I might well 


218 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


afford to laugh at both his impudence and malice, but when 
the ball is set rolling, how many will there be to kick it 
down hill.” 

“ Kick, fiddlesticks, Godfrey,” replied the doctor. “ I beg 
your pardon, but I really have no patience with you. Now, 
this interest which is coming due ; you told him, you say, 
that you had a notion of asking him for time for its pay- 
ment? That must not be thought of; we must show a bold 
front to the enemy,” continued the doctor, as he sat down 
at Mr. Daly’s writing desk, and, taking a checkbook from 
his pocket, commenced to write. 

“ What are you doing, doctor ?” asked Mr. Daly.” 

“ I will tell you directly,” he answered. 

“ James, this must not be,” said Mr. Daly. “ I will bor- 
row no more money from you. I am too much in your debt 
already.” 

“ Godfrey Daly,” replied the old doctor, “ don’t bother me, 
don’t vex me, don’t insult me. You may be as proud as 
yon like with Mr. John O’Roarke, but do not give me any 
of your high airs and he tore a leaf from his check book 
with a very vexed jerk. Then, rising, lie took Mr. Daly’s 
hand, “ Godfrey, my old friend,” he continued, “ let no 
such words as borrowing and lending be between us. We 
are both old, Godfrey, and old people must sometimes have 
their own way ; give me mine in this, and you shall have 
yours the next time.” 

Ci But, James,” said Mr. Daly, as he clasped the old man’s 
hand between both his own, “ this is useless, O’Roarke will 
foreclose his mortgage, whether the interest is paid or not.” 

“We don’t know that,” replied the other. “Your pay- 
ing the interest will, at least, deprive him of an excuse for 
doing so. After telling him too, that you were about to 
ask him for time, this prompt payment will deceive him as 
to your resources, and such animals as he and his brother- 
in-law, Lyons, never spring until they are sure of their dis- 
tance. Not a word more, Godfrey; you and Emily are to 
dine with me to-morrow.” 

“ Indeed, doctor, but ” 

“ But me, no buts. Emily has already promised for you. 
I met the gipsey down stairs, singing like a lark, with a large 


THE DAHYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


219 


1 unch of keys dangling at her waist, making believe that 
she is a great housekeeper. I believe that I did not ask 
you, Henry.” 

“ No, doctor, you did not.” 

“Well, if Emily brings you, you may come.” 

“I wish, James,” said Mr. Daly, “you would be satisfied 
with having Henry and Emily to go to you, and excuse me.” 

“I will not be satisfied with anything of the kind,” re- 
plied the doctor. 

“ You forget, James,” said Mr. Daly, “ that it is my turn 
to have my own way now.” 

“ Not to-day,” answered the doctor. “ Did I not except to- 
day? Well, I should have done so. I got up this morning, 
determined to have my own way for twenty-four hours ; I 
warned my wife and Rose of the fact before leaving home. 

Come you shall. Henry can ride into T , to get that 

check cashed, and meet you afterwards, at dinner. So you 
see you will have to squire Emily. Good bye, Godfrey; be 
over early, we shall have a walk before dinner. As for you, 
Henry, if you are late, I’ll put you at a side table, and give 
you cold meat. Come, until I show you a new purchase I 
have got under my gig. A perfect beauty, or I am no judge 
of horse flesh. Good bye again, Godfrey.” 

When Doctor Kelly, accompanied by Henry, left the 
room, the cheerful look which the countenance of the for- 
mer had worn in Mr. Daly’s presence, passed away, and he 
sighed more than once as he left the house. His gig was 
in waiting for him at the hall door ; but, without caring to 
point out the beauties of his new horse to Henry, he took 
the arm of the latter, and, telling his servant to drive slowly 
on, they followed after. 

44 1 believe, Henry,” said the doctor, as they walked along, 
44 it is unnecessary for me to renew the subject that brought 
me here to-day.” 

44 Quite so, my dear doctor,” replied Henry, 44 at least for 
the purpose of cautioning me; our sky is too wintry just 
now for love to shine in it. No, no! doctor, do not fear 
that I shall add another sorrow to the many that are crush- 
ing my poor father, — killing him, doctor,” he continued, in 
excited, hurried words, — 44 yes, killing him ; did you not re- 


220 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

mark the expression of his face as we entered the room ? of 
course you must have remarked it. My God ! and I can do 
nothing to save him.” 

“ You can do much, Henry,” replied Doctor Kelly. 

“ Show me how, doctor,” he asked. “ Give up Rose, would 
you say? I would be unworthy of her love, if I could think 
of making her my wife under present circumstances : but, 
doctor, I cannot go before the altar and falsely promise to 
love another, even to save my father.” 

“ God forbid I should ask you,” replied Doctor Kelly, 
“ but, come what will, your father is possessed of a bless- 
ing the world cannot deprive him of as long as he has his 
children to love him. You, Henry, have youth, energy, in- 
tellect, education, — Tut, man, you must not despair ! Sup- 
pose your father was to lose his property, it would be but 
one plank sinking under you. With a brave heart and sin • 
ewy arm, strike out, and you shall still bear him in safety 
to the shore.” 

“ Doctor,” replied Henry, “ for myself I fear not. I feel 
I have energy enough to carve out for myself a home and a 
future ; but, you say, suppose my father was to lose his 
property. Ah, doctor, take this old place from him, and 
what can you, or I, or any man, give him in its stead? No — 
no, he will die Godfrey Daly of Dalystown ; for he shall 
pass away before the old place has a new master.” 

“Well, — well,” answered the doctor, “ there is no fear of 
that at present. Even the first steps in that direction have 
not been taken as yet, and it would take many a long day 
to accomplish it. We must work, my boy, for I will go in 
harness with you. Do your duty, Henry, and leave the 
future to God. You need not fear, either, that Rose will 
spirit herself away.” 

“ Ah, doctor, I am sorry I ever confessed my love to her.” 

“Poh, boy, your eyes confessed it long ago, and she is 
worthy, Henry, of any man’s love. You will meet her to- 
morrow and tell her all you have said to me ; my mind is 
quite easy about you two ; for I never saw a pair more in 
love and less mad. Halloa, John! I believe the fellow in- 
tends that I should walk all the way home. Return, Henry, 
and keep the old man up. Good bye my dear boy, and God 
bless you. Remember to-morrow, half past five, sharp.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 221 

“Doctor,” said Henry, as he shook hands with the old 
gentleman, how shall we ever thank you ?” 

“Well, I do not know,” he replied. “ I shall think about 
it some day that I have time, and until then do not mind 
doing so. Take her by the head, John, while I am getting 
into the gig. Your arm, Henry, I am not quite as active as 
I was fifty years ago. Oh ! by the by, you have not told me 
what you think of my new purchase.” 

“ She’s just what you called her, doctor, a perfect beauty.” 

“ A little skittish, though,” said the doctor, “for a bog 
road, a dark night, and an old doctor. So ho, girl ! jump in 
John ; there we are, and giving Henry a cheerful nod, away 
he rattled. 

Henry watched until the gig passed out the gateway and 
then retraced his steps to the house. After a little the 
doctor checked up the speed of his horse, and fell to musing. 

“ Henry is right,” he thought, “ Godfrey Daly will never 
live to see Dalystown pass into other hands. The very 
outskirmishing of the lawyers, their d — n catlike play, 
would kill him. Surely the ways of God are not the ways 
of men. Godfrey Daly takes a poor orphan into his house, 
he becomes the father of the fatherless ; under his parental 
care she grows up good and beautiful, and he is rewarded, 
the scoffer would say, by his son’s falling in love with the 
nameless, penniless girl, which circumstance may lead, in 
an indirect manner, to the loss of his property and his utter 
ruin ; for no doubt but that Henry Daly could get a wealthy 
wife, and would do so, if his affections were disengaged. 
But who shall dictate when and how, to God ? Blind moles 
that we are, shall we, who cannot see into to-morrow, sit in 
judgment to-day ?” 

The conversation which Bose O’Donnell had held with 
Doctor Kelly convinced her that she was right in suppos- 
ing that Henry Daly’s love for her militated against his 
own and his family’s interests, even had her humble birth 
been no objection. She therefore resolved to fly his pres- 
ence forever, when an opportunity to do so should offer. 
She would have done so at once had not the doctor point- 
ed out the danger of sudden flight. 

There was very little danger of Henry’s being late for din- 


2.22 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ner at the Grove on the following day, as he arrived early 
in the afternoon. No matter what resolutions a man may 
form, or how strong and binding he may deem them, in the 
absence of her he loves, in her presence they are no stron- 
ger than a spider’s web. As Rose listened to # Henry’s out- 
bursts of passion, and then to his pleadings, that he but ask- 
ed her for a sister’s love, she felt how poorly he was en- 
deavoring to cheat himself into the belief that he would be 
contented with such. 

“ And now, Rose,” he said, “ hear me promise.” But 

she interrupted him. 

“ Henry,” she said, “ neither of us must make any prom- 
ises. If you would not have me leave you at once, make 
none. Remember what you owe to your father, and forget 
yourself and me, in your efforts to comfort him, then, in 
after life, when you think of his great love for you, you will 
feel no remorse at having left aught undone to repay him.” 

“ My beloved,” answered Henry. “I will do all you ask of 
me. You are much better and wiser than I am, Rose. 
Henceforth you shall be my inspiration and guide.” 

“ Better, Henry,” she replied, “ that duty should be your 
inspiration, — your own heart your guide.” 

It was no easy matter to be unhappy in Dr. Ivelly’s pres- 
ence. The sunshine of the old man’s heart was infectious, 
and his cheerful smile the very antidote to gloomy thoughts. 
But to-day, in his own house, at his own table, with his old 
friend, Godfrey Daly, sitting beside; him, he was a very 
wizard. He waved his wand, and care fled his presence. 
Before the cloth was removed, Rose, Emily, and Henry 
were laughing merrily. As the old gentlemen took wine 
with each other, they threw a heartiness into the manner of 
doing so, that left altogether in the shade the usual cold, 
formal manner. Their glasses raised and touching, their 
hands elapsed together, they looked at one another with 
glistening eyes. 

“ Your health, Godfrey, my boy,” said the doctor, “ this 
is not the first glass of wine we have had together, nor will 
it be our last.”, 

“I hope not,” replied Mr. Daly, “your health James. 
Health and happiness to you and your’s.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


228 


“ The same to you, Godfrey,” returned the doctor, and 
thereupon the old gentlemen drank off their wine, smacked 
their lips, and nodded very pleasantly to one another. 

When the ladies retired to the drawing room, and Henry 
had stolen away to join them, the old gentlemen drew their 
chairs nearer to the fire. Then the doctor commenced re 
minding his guest of many a scene in their early lives. 
With admirable tact he managed to light upon none that 
had not pleasant associations, and as Emily and Henry sat 
in the drawingroom, their father’s laughter reached them, 
filling them with happiness. 

“ How well my father looks this evening, Emily,” whis- 
pered Henry to his sister, as Mr. Daly and Dr. Kelly entered 
the room. 

‘ Yes, Henry,” she replied, “ but it is all owing to that 
dear doctor who has made him so happy — who makes every 
one happy,” and, going up to the doctor, she gave his cheek 
the gentlest little kiss imaginable, at which he seemed ter- 
ribly shocked, giving Mrs. Kelly a very frightened look ; 
but the old lady laughingly told him that Emily and Rose 
were privileged, whereupon he became re-assured and sat 
down with one of the girls on each side. How pleasantly 
this evening passed with music, conversation, and inno- 
cent laughter. I am loth to leave such a scene, — loth to 
leave this good old man, whose youth seemed perpetuated, 
and harmoniously blended with his riper years, — whose 
wisdom scorned not even folly, when it won from the care- 
worn heart a passing smile. But the little world I have be- 
come associated with, like the greater one, moves on, and I 
must followy if I would record its incidents. 

Rose O’Donnell had spent but four days at the Grove, 
when she received a letter from Mr. Kirwin, her aunt’s 
husband, stating that his wife was very ill, and begged of 
Rose to go to her. Rose showed the letter to Doctor Kelly. 

“ What will you do ?” he asked. 

“ Go, of course,” she replied. “My aunt has been most 
kind to me, and though I regret that her illness should give 
me so good an excuse for leaving, yet I bqt waited for one, 
to do so.” 

“ I believe you are right, Rose,” replied the doctor. c If 


224 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

your aunt has been kind to you, it is your duty to go to her, 
now that she is ill; but, Rose, when the spring brings back 
all your sister flowers, you will return to us. Remember, 
my child, that this is your home whenever you wish to 
make it so. When do you propose to leave?” 

“ Oh, I must not lose an hour,” she answered. 

“You cannot leave,” he said, “without going to Dalys- 
town. I will drive you over there to-day, and you can take 
the Dublin coach in the morning. You see what a hurry I 
am in to get rid of you, but the sooner you are with your 
aunt the better.” 

“ And you will often write to us, Rose,” said Mrs. Kelly, 
will you not?” 

“ Indeed I will, Mrs. Kelly,” she replied. 

“ I am almost sorry you came to us at all,” continued the 
old lady, “ here have I been laying out all kinds of plans 
to have you to myself during the winter, and now they are 
all blown away. But, Rose, love, you have not answered 
the doctor about returning to us.” 

“ When I do return, Mrs. Kelly,” she replied, “ I will come 
to the Grove.” 

“ That is my own good girl,” said the old lady, without 
remarking that Rose had not said when that return might 
be. This did not escape the doctor’s notice ; but he felt 
that after what he himself had told Rose, he would not be 
justified in pressing her on the subject. 

But, would, a vague promise satisfy Henry ? Would she, 
have strength, after all, to refuse him any other ? As she 
put to herself these questions, she dreaded her parting in- 
terview with him, but, most fortunately, she was spared the 
pain of one. On arriving at Dalystown, she found that 
Henry had gone to the county Mayo, where some of Mr. 
Daly’s property was situated, and was not expected home 
for two days. So taking an affectionate leave of the good 
doctor, who had accompanied her to Dalystown, she re- 
mained there for that day, determined to leave for Dublin, 
on the following morning, from whence she would take pas- 
sage to England. 

Emily was much grieved at Rose’s departure, and both 
the former and Mr. Daly did all they could to make her 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


225 


promise to return the moment her aunt’s health permitted 
her to do so ; But Bose avoided, as best she could, making 
any promise on the subject. 

u My God, I thank thee,” she mentally said, as the coach 
which was to bear her to Dublin moved off. “ My Father, 
I thank thee for the strength thou hast given to me. It 
is over. Beautiful Dalystown and happiness, farewell for- 
ever 1” 


CHAFTEB XX. 

THE RACE — THE AVENGER. 

The day on which the Galway Hunt race was to come off 
had arrived. Heretofore it generally took place in Octo- 
ber ; but, for some reason, had been postponed this year. 
Very probable was it that the sheriff had an unusual num- 
ber of executions against the fox hunters of the county, for 
this race was exclusively confined to horses, the bona fide 
property of members of the Galway Hunt Club. To be sure, 
if you believed tailors and other contemptible tradespeople, 
you would suppose that if every one had bona fide their 
own their would not be a tail, much less a horse, to go to 
the post. 

All the world, and the world’s mother, (not Eve, but 
another old lady, of shadowy existence, supposed to patron- 
ise fun in Ireland,) were going to Knockbarron race-course. 
First, early in the morning, before the roads became crowd- 
ed, the horses that were entered for the race and had not 
stables on the course, were led out by their trainers or 
grooms, each horse accompanied by a small crowd of admir- 
15 


226 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ers and well-wishers, stable boys, hangers-on and tenant’s 
sons. In some instances they were accompanied on horse- 
back by the jockeys, who were to ride. It is scarcely doing 
justice to the lofty positions these gentlemen held, to say 
that they shared, equally with the horses, the admiration of 
the crowd. Although, for the most part, miserable little 
abortions, literally wasted away, from the constant habit 
of wasting down (as it is termed) to enable them to ride at 
certain weights, they were, on this morning, full-grown lions. 
When a professional Jock was too light he padded his sad- 
dle with lead, or had recourse to some other happy expe- 
dient. When too heavy, he loaded himself with clothes, 
horse-rugs, blankets, and got himself buried up to the chin 
in a heap of stable manure, where he quietly lay, contem- 
plating human nature, viz: the stable door, until his body 
had been reduced to the jjroper weight. Well, jockeys are 
not the only persons who fit themselves for high places by 
sweltering in filth. High enough they were now, basking 
in the full blaze of popularity ! It was amusing to watch 
the healthy, athletic young country fellows crowding around 
them, listening to every word that fell from them, their 
eyes fixed with admiration upon their little shriveled faces, 
or nudging each other, and pointing to — notin derision but 
with profound respect — the little spindle legs, encased 
in top boots, which any of those young fellows could have 
smashed across his arm. Nor were these stunted creatures 
(who never had an idea unconnected with a horse,) uncon- 
scious of their position ; like other lions, they were taci- 
turn and reserved. When they condescended to answer at 
all, they did so snappishly ; but when spoken to by one of 
the initiated, (who generally made his appearance dress- 
ed in a cut-off green coat, soiled doeskin breeches, muddy 
top boots, crumpled shirt, jerry hat and red nose,) the lil- 
liputian so addressed would shut his eye in such a fright- 
ful knowing manner, that the rustics fell back aghast, be- 
lieving that thereby was conveyed an incredible amount 
of hidden information on the engrossing topic of the day. 

Now in all this the poor little jockey lions resembled much 
bigger lions, while their claim to lionism was far more ten- 
able than it is in many instances that I wot of; for, indu- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


227 


bit ably, they were “ the right men in the right place” — 
jockeys on their way to the race course of Knockbarron, on 
the day that the Galway Hunt race was to come off over that 
celebrated race course. Amongst them was a gentleman’s 
groom who was to ride his master’s horse; but he was no- 
body. Many circumstances militated against him ; he had 
the usual proportions of a man, w~as at home, and entirely 
too free with pedestrians. Many a voice, indeed, roared 
out as he passed ; more power Lacky, but this very famil- 
iarity squashed him. How could a man be a lion, and call- 
ed Lacky ? 

Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock arrived, and the road leading 
to the race-course, became densely crowded with all man- 
ner of people, in all manner, shapes, and modes of convey- 
ance, and with no conveyance at all, save that very durable 
animal, known in Ireland as “shank’s mare.” 

I verily believe had Noah’s ark stood that morning in the 
yard of Gill’s hotel, it would have been set on wheels and. 
pressed into service. 

There were gentlemen on horseback and in well appoint- 
ed tandems, ladies in handsome carriages, from the coach 
and four to the light pony phaeton ; men, women and 
children, in all kinds of cars, jingles, gigs, and carts. There 
were tinkers on donkeys and cripples in wheelbarrows, 
dashing and splashing, smashing and spilling, screeching 
and laughing, on their way to the course. The fields, too, 
on every side, were crowded with horsemen, pedestrians, 
and dogs, making for the same point. A fair sprinkling of 
the pigs that lived in the neighborhood had arrived on the 
course at an early hour; for the pigs themselves attend 
races in Ireland, for the pure devilment of running between 
the horses’ legs and upsetting them and their riders, to make 
the girls laugh. 

“And its no admiration in life, that they should do so,” 
remarked Mr. James Carty, the parish schoolmaster, who 
had his classic Roman nose flattened on his face on this, 
very course, by a playful grunter getting between the legs 
of his grey pony, “no admiration, seeing that we read in 
the scriptures that the devil’s in the pigs.” 

Perhaps it would have been more correct had. I said, that 


228 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


pigs attended races in Ireland at the time I write of; no doubt 
the persecution they have been subject to since then, at the 
hands of the police, (compelling them not to show a snout 
on the roads, under pain of fine, and imprisonment in the 
parish pound,) has done much to break down the vivacity 
of their nature. I fear much they are now a degenerate 
race of pigs, without as much as a solitary curl in their 
tails. Well, well, the pigs are not the only animals in 
Ireland that have lost spirit of late years; and how could it 
be expected that they w T ould keep their tails curled, with 
bayonets everlastingly stuck within two inches of their 
hind quarters ? 

Poor, tame pigs ! when will you turn and gore your driv- 
ers with your tusks ? 

At the different gaps, or entrances to the course, men, 
with white bands round their hats, were stationed, their 
duty being to keep the different vehicles from crowding the 
gaps, and to collect the various small sums charged for en- 
trance to the course. “ Stand back there ;” “ come on here,” 
was incessantly shouted. 

“What are you doing there, Mick Hurrigan, with that 
girrawn* of yours ? Look at him, bad ’cess to me but he’ll 
smather the shins av them ladies on the outside car. Make 
w T ay there, boys, for Mr. Darcy’s coach. Five shillings, your 
honor. Too much, your honor ? Faith, then, af your honor 
gives me the coach and horses, I’ll pay ten for them, with 
all the vanes of my heart.” Then, as the gentleman’s car- 
riage passed in : “ By dad, I believe all the broken meat 
that goes astray in your kitchen, isn’t much to talk about.” 

“ Way, there, for the dacent man, Tom Dwyer. How’s 
yourself Mister Dwver?” This salutation was given to a 
jolly-looking farmer, who appeared, driving an unpretend- 
ing flat car, on which was placed a feather bed, to “ soften 
the boords ” as Mr. Dwyer said, covered with a home-made 
quilt, and in the middle of the bed sat Mrs. Dwyer, appear- 
ing, from the hollow she had made in it, to have got very 
near the boards, despite her husband’s precaution. “ And 
how’s the woman that own’s you ? Och, what need I ax : 


* A bad horse. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


229 


there she is, soncy and well. How are you, Mrs. Dwyer, 
ma’am ?” 

“Very well, thank you, James. Amn’t I the foolishest 
woman in the world to be out here, instid of minding my 
business at home ?” 

“ The dickens a one of you are. Why shouldn’t you take 
your divarsion, as well as the best of them ? Tom Dwyer, 
ma’am, is a warrnf man, and deserves to be so ; a poor body 
never went hungry from his door yet.” And amidst a buzz 
of assent, honest Tom Dwyer and his good-humored wife, 
blushing from the well-deserved praise they had just re- 
ceived, passed forward. 

“Way, there, — way there, will ye’s ; out of the way there, 
every mother’s sowl of you ; here comes Mr. Henry Daly !” 
“ Long life to your father’s son.” “ More power, old stock!” 
“ There’s a chip of the old block for you. Hurra !” “ By the 

hole of my coat, here comes Mr. Burke and the ladies.” 
“ Ay, kitch him missing the race.” 

Mr. Burke was a wealthy shopkeeper in the town of T , 

and a sporting character likewise. He always kept a good 
horse, turned out in natty style at the hunts in the neighbor- 
hood, boasted that he had good blood in his veins, had sub- 
scribed twenty pounds to the race funds, was a general 
favorite with rich and poor, and every gentleman on the 
course was more or less in his books. He occupied the 
driver’s seat of his well appointed outside car, — his horse 
being young and skittish, he did not wish to entrust a ser- 
vant with its management. On one side of the car sat Mrs. 
Burke, in the full blow of silk and satin ; on the opposite 
side, the Misses Burke, pretty young girls, tastefully and 
fashionably dressed. 

“ Half a crown, Mr. Burke, if you please.” 

“ Boys,” said Anthony O’Kelly, riding up, (O’Kelly being 
one of the stewards of the race, wore, on this occasion, a 
scarlet hunting coat,) “ Mr. Burke is free ; he gave twenty 
pounds towards the race funds.” 

“ More power to him,” said one of the men. 

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Burke, “here is the half crown to 
get you a drink.” 


+ In good circumstances. 


230 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ More power to your big fist. Asy, sir, I’ll take the 
mare’s head.” 

“ How do you do, Mr. O’Kelly ?” said Burke. 

“ Quite well, I thank you, Burke,” replied Anthony. “IIow 
do you do, Mrs. Burke ? I am glad to see you here. That’s 
right, bringing the girls to see the fun. Mary Jane, how 
are you, pretty as usual. Ah, Sophia, you little rogue, you 
must back Ribbonman, (0‘Kelly’s horse). Well, if 1 had 
that ribbon that has got loose round your neck to put in 
his headstall, he would be sure to win.” 

“ Give it to him, Sophia Louisa,” said her mother, “ give 
it to Mr. O’Kelly. There’s not a ribbon in our bonnets, Mr. 
O’Kelly, that we would not give to see your horse win.” 

“And the bonnets too, Mary,” said Mr. Burke. 

“ I know that,” replied O’Kelly. “ Thank you, Sophia. 
But, by Jove, he shan’t have it; no horse shall be so hon- 
ored, I’ll wear my lady’s favors myself.” And O’Kelly gal- 
lantly tied the ribbon round one of the buttons of his coat. 

“ Go along with you, you madcap,” said the pleased moth- 
er, while Mary Jane tittered, and Sophia Louisa blushed. 

“ How’s Ribbonman, sir ?” asked Mr. Burke. 

“ He has come out well,” replied O’Kelly, “ will you not 
go see him before the start ? You will find him near the 
first wall.” 

“ I can’t stir from the mare,” replied Burke, “she never 
was in a crowd before.” 

“ Where is your servant ?” 

“ I wouldn’t trust any man with her, sir, but myself. I 
am sorry now, Mary, that I did not. take your advise, and, 
bring the steady horse ; well, sooner or later, I would have 
to break her in. Who is to ride for you, Mr. O’Kelly ?” 

“ That is a secret, Burke.” 

“ I bet you I know : Whisper.” 

“ You are right. How did you find it out?” 

“ Oh, that is a secret too.” 

“Well, keep dark for another hour; my book is not quite 
made up as yet.” 

“ Oh, you need not fear me, I have backed Ribbonman 
pretty heavily myself.” 

“ You are a trump, Burke. By Jove he must win : all the 
good fellows are backing him.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


231 


# And waving his hand to the ladies, O’Kelly set spurs to 
his horse and galloped off, while Mr. Burke drove towards 
the stand, which was situated close to the winning post, 
and where a number of carriages and cars had alreadv pre- 
ceded him. 

Very contradictory were the directions and instructions 
which Mr. Burke received, as he drove along, touching the 
best stand to select to see and be seen, and mentally did 
he deplore his folly in not having selected his steady, trained 
horse, to draw his family to the course. 

“ It was the girls persuaded me,” thought Mr. Burke. 
“ Well, it is better than to see them manoeuvering to get rid 
of me.” 

“Papa,” said Mary Jane, “get as near the stand as you 
can.” 

“ Oh, papa,” said Sophia Louisa, u there is a good place, 
just behind Mr. Oheever’s carriage.” 

There were a good many young gentlemen there too, but 
I suppose Sophia did not remark them. 

“ For the Jove of God, Pat,” exclaimed Mrs. Burke, “keep 
out of the crowd. Oh ! gracious ! the mare is beginning to 
jump already.” 

“ By all that’s lovely, Mary, and that’s yourself,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Burke, “ you and the girls will make me like 
the man who thought to please everybody and pleased no- 
body. Oh, here is Mike,” he continued, as his servant came 
up to the car. “ Take her by the head, Mike, and lead her 
just behind that carriage.” 

As the day advanced the course became crowded, and 
the scene most lively and picturesque. The weather was 
unusually fine for the time of year, and many of the ladies 
jwesent got out of their close carriages and took seats on 
the boxes and rumbles of the latter. For some distance 
adjoining the winning post, the race track was roped off, to 
keep it clear for the running horses ; outside these ropes 
carriages, cars, gigs, horsemen and pedestrians were ranged 
along in solid masses, the latter made up of the peasantry ; 
the men dressed in dark frieze, the women wearing red 
shawls, white caps and gay ribbons. Of course the girls 
were not quiet, but kept continually getting in and out un- 


232 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOwM. 


der the ropes, crossing and recrossing the track, as they 
recognized acquaintances on the opposite side, or changed 
their position to have a better view of the course. 

The tents, —from which already there issued the tones of 
bagpipe and fiddle — were grouped together some distance 
behind the stand, and had their various signs, floating on 
flags, before their entrances. Here was “ The Oat ‘and Nog- 
gin,” and Patrick Curly, from Ballinasloe, “The Wren’s 
Nest,” and Luke Rafferty, from Loughrea. Mary Brady, 
from Nogginstown,with her old sign, “Pass if you can,” which 
a poet, whose name has not come down to us, inspired by 
the muses and whiskey punch, immortalized by the verses 
that now flaunted in the presence of less favored signs : 

“Pass East, pass West, 

But, if ye’s pass this, ye’s pass the best. 

Stop in, my hearty, and take your rest.” 

But Mrs. Brady had things far more substantial than poet- 
ry to invite customers. A table, on which were ranged bot- 
tles, glasses, jugs, &c. &c., stood at the entrance to her tent, 
and on the side opposite to the table, was a blazing fire, 
over which hung a kettle and a huge plethoric pot, and as 
Mister McOan, the best piper in the five parishes, struck up 
the “ Rocky Road” and the “ Priest in his Boots,” “ the lid 
of the pot,” Mrs. Brady said, “ danced up and down, keep- 
ing time to the music in the most wonderful manner, glory 
be to God.” 

Mary Brady stood at the tent door. She was a fat, good- 
humored looking woman, whose pleasant smile could 
change betimes into a very cloudy, dangerous look. 

She wore a blue cloth cloak, and a “ rale Leghorn bonnet.” 
In the presence of the little ducks of bonnets of the pres- 
ent day, I feel a delicacy in mentioning the actual size of 
that bonnet ; — its age, or the age of the lady, I indignantly 
refuse to disclose. 

There was a little manikin running in and out of the tent, 
attending to customers and Mrs. Brady’s orders, who was 
generally supposed to be her lawful husband ; at best though, 
he but ranked as prince consort, Mary Brady being, by right 
of descent and strength of will, the reigning sovereign of 
the “Pass-if-you-can.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


233 


In remote parts of the course, away from the great crowd, 
the horses to contend were walked about, and followed by 
small crowds. 

Horsemen in single files and in troops, were galloping in 
all directions oyer the course, examining the horses, the 
ground and the fences to be jumped of the latter, there 
were two ‘rivers, seventeen feet wide, two double ditches, 
about the height of respectable hay stacks, and six double- 
breasted stone walls, five feet high each ; the race, the best 
of heats ; distance, two miles. All this could be ascer- 
tained by paying sixpence for a race card, to one of the 
ragged fellows bawling out “ the color of the rider, and the 
rider’s name, the weight he carries and the age lie rides, 
with heats, stakes and sweepstakes, segar and light, segar 
and light.” 

The monotony of these calls was enlivened by the sweet 
strains of several ballad singers, amongst whom was a lady 
who sang in plaintive tones, “ Jim Reilly’s Farewell,” in 
which the said Jim, in rather too facetious a manner for a 
gentleman in his position, invited all his late jovial com- 
panions to go see him “ dance upon nothing.” Indeed, taken 
altogether, the style of the “farewell” showed that the late 
Mr. Reilly must have been of an uncertain and volatile 
disposition, the concluding lines being : 

“ Let all ye’s take warning by my downfall — 

The curse of Moses on ye’s all.” 

Half-past twelve, tra-la-la-trala, the first bugle, the horses 
going to be saddled, everything and everybody in motion, 
the tents deserted, vehicles scattered about the course, 
driven rapidly to the neighborhood of the winning-post, 
horsemen galloping in every direction, amongst whom 
might be distinguished the jockeys, by their handsome silk 
jackets and caps. 

a There go O’Kelly and Daly, down to Ribbonman ; but 
who is to ride for O’Kelly?” 

“No one knows, I suspect he will have to ride himself.” 

“ Nonsense, he is much too heavy ; besides, do you think 
O’Kelly would ride among hired jocks? The tiling should 
have been confined to gentlemen riders ; if it had, I would 
have ridden for Brown.” 


234 : 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“You ! what an escape Brown had: but come along, see 
they are stripping Ribbonman .” 

And half a dozen gentlemen, amongst whom were the 
speakers, galloped off in the direction that O’Kelly and 
Daly had taken. 

A number of persons had collected round Ribbonman as 
he stood pawing the ground, while the groom tightened 
the girths of his racing saddle. He was a handsome dark bay, 
of about sixteen hands high, of fine proportions, both for 
speed and strength. His chest was broad and deep ; his 
shoulder high and receding, his neck long and slightly dip- 
ped, where it joined the shoulder, his legs well under him, 
and unusually strong for a horse that had scarcely a stain in 
his blood, his head small, with a full rolling eye, and his 
nose long, with wide red nostrils. He was the favorite, but 
for the last hour or so, there was a rumor flying about that 
O’Kelly had no rider, and some of the men who had backed 
the horse now hedged, and laid their money on Mr. Brown’s 
“ Maid of the Mill a very beautiful animal, rather light of 
limb though, for Galway walls, but of finely developed mus- 
cle, that promised to make up for spindle-shanks. When 
her body-clothes were removed, she looked the very picture 
of symmetry — her every motion was grace, and as she 
walked the arteries and veins stood out along her polished 
coat. 

The riders now mounted their horses, and took short pre- 
parative canters, before going to the starting point, but as 
yet Ribbonman’s rider did not make his appearance. 

“How is this, O’Kelly,” said a gentleman riding up, I have 
backed Ribbonman heavily, and I am now told you have no 
rider for him.” 

“Did you hedge, Darcv, when you heard so?” asked 
O’Kelly. 

“ No, I have too much faith in your pluck, O’Kelly. I 
know if you cannot get a rider, you will get into the pig- 
skin yourself.” 

“ Me ? aPh that would not do ; I am too heavy, but Ribbon- 
man shall have a rider. Look there, old boy, and thank 
your stars for having faith.” 

As O’Kelly spoke, he pointed to a person crossing the 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


235 


course, and coming toward them. He was coming too fast 
to be on his own legs, yet at the distance, from which he 
was first seen, it was difficult to say how he was borne along, 
or who he was, but as he drew near, he was recognized, 
and hailed with shouts, of “ Tom Tinker, Tom Tinker , ° 
u Where the devil did he come from, I thought he was in 
England?” 

“ By Jove, O’Kelly, you are in luck. What luck I had, not 
to hedge !” Amid all which, and sundry other ejaculations, 
a young man, mounted on a pony, rode up to the crowd 
that surrounded Ribbonman. Yes! a pony: one could know 
that now, by observing the lower part of four little legs, 
the tops of two little ears and the most contemptible little 
tail that ever terminated a pony, — it might have been a 
waggish tail, but that there was nothing left of it to wag. 
These were all that were visible of the animal ; for a top 
coat completely enveloped its body to the neck, which was 
alsoTddden by a racing saddle that the rider carried before 
him. 

“ Allow me to introduce the latter to you : Mr. John Rut- 
ledge, alias ‘Tom Tinker.’” (How he got this soubriquet I 
cannot say, no more, than how my friend, the Honorable 
Colonel Botherall. got his title,) was a young man of about 
three and thirty, handsome, well proportioned and of an 
intelligent open countenance. He was of a very respect- 
able family, and might have been, if he had so willed it, an 
educated gentleman. But from his tenderest years, Jack 
Rutledge had evinced the strongest antipathy to books, and 
a love for horses. Indeed in infancy he had been missing 
for the greater part of a day, and was at length discovered 
calmly reposing between the legs of a vicious brute that 
had acquired, from his biting propensities, the cognomen of 
“ the man-eater,” the sporting babe having crawled on his 
hands and knees across the yard, and into the maneater’s sta- 
ble. Before he was well out of petticoats, he rode nearly to 
death every horse that chanced to be brought to his father’s 
place. When hewas about eight years of age his parents 
got a private tutor for their son, but J ack had procured one 
for himself, long before this time, namely, a dog-teacher in 
the neighborhood, who showed him how to worm dogs, set 
snares, enter ferrets, &c., &c. 


236 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Anxious consultations were now held by J ack and his 
tutor to get rid of the one provided for him. 

“ Did you put the powder in his pipe, Master Jacky ?” 

“Yes, and nearly got the ears pulled out of my head.” 

“ And the backy in his tay?” questioned Jack’s tutor. 

“ Oh ! he found it out before he took half a sup. Oh ! Peter 
what will I do if we can’t get rid of him ?” 

“Never fear, Master Jacky, we’ll make him boult yet, like 
a rabbit, — stop, by gorres, I have it ; we’ll try him with the 
ferrets.” 

“ How, Peter !” 

“ In his bed, of coorse.” 

Acting on this advice, Jack entered the ferrets, and the 
enemy bolted. He was succeeded by several others, whose 
stay varied from one week to twelve hours. At length strong 
measures were adopted, and a pedagogue was procured, 
who promised that if he could not get knowledge into J ack 
at one end in a legitimate manner, he would flog it into him 
at the other. 

But Jack was equal to the emergency; after the first four 
hours’ tuition, the pedagogue, rather heated, went out for a 
walk, Jack, rather sore, followed after. He watched his new 
tutor until he saw him pass into a distant field, then hasten- 
ing to where a wicked bull was kept in an enclosed pad- 
dock, Jack smashed the lock of the gate, and drove the 
animal out. leaving him in a field that he judged the tutor 
would pass through on his return, — no animal on four legs 
was ever known to hurt Jack. In about half an hour after- 
wards the herdsman, passing through the field, discovered 
the luckless pedagogue lying senseless and bleeding. He 
carried him to the house, from whence, after much suffering, 
he was enabled to take liis departure in about two months. 
The matter was never proved clearly home against Jack, 
but it was generally supposed that Mosy did not take up a 
stone, break the lock, and let himself out, without any assist- 
ance. 

After this no one could be got daring enough to go on the 
forlorn hope of becoming private tutor to Jack, so it was 
determined to send him to a public school. Having got all 
things ready, his father accompanied him to the school, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


237 


which was a good distance off, and Jack and the old gentle- 
man returned home about the same time. He was flogged 
and sent back in charge of a servant, but this time Jack 
actually got back before his conductor, who had made some 
delay on the road ; J ack made none. From this out, all 
attempts to teach Jack were abandoned, so he taught him- 
self, and in time became one of the most finished gentlemen 
jocks that Galway had ever produced. 

Mr. J ohn Rutledge, known in the sporting world as 44 Tom 
Tinker,” threw his leg over his pony’s neck, and standing 
on his feet, saluted his friends. 

44 How is the ground, O’Kelly ?” he asked. 

44 In fine order,” replied Anthony. 

44 And the hollow ?” 

44 Deep enough to drown a bailiff.” 

‘•That’s right, we shall have some wet jackets there.” 

Then turning to the groom, Mr. Rutledge continued, 44 take 
the saddle off Ribbomnan, and put my own on.” 

44 Any occasion to weigh, Rutledge ?” asked O’Kelly. 

“None,” he replied, 44 1 am two pounds over, but that can- 
not be helped.” 

By the time the horse was saddled, Rutledge was prepar- 
ed to mount. So, without further delay, he placed his hand 
upon the pommel of the saddle and vaulted lightly on Rib- 
bonman. 

When it became known that 44 Tom Tinker” was on the 
course, and going to ride, there was a rush from all sides 
to see him mount, — and he was worth looking at, his well- 
shaped legs, encased in natty top boots, his agile figure set off 
to great advantage, by his well-fitting racing jacket, whilst 
a blue velvet racing cap added to the youthful look of his 
fair, handsome features. As he raised in his stirrups, and 
bent a little forward, Ribbonman gave a mad, wild bound; 
but his rider seemed, as it were, to become a part of the 
animal he rode, for while every nerve was strained to keep 
within bounds the mad impatience of the horse, one could 
not detect a single motion of the body ; not a muscle quiv 
ered, not a leg or arm shook ; 44 Tom Tinker” grew out of his 
horse. 

When the second bugle sounded, calling them to the post, 


238 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Kibbonman took his place with the others. Eleven alto- 
gether to start, and all crack horses. Out of the way there 
spooney ! The starting post was but a short distance from 
the winning post, and in a straight line with it ; the first 
jump, a wall, being between them. This was also the last 
jump, the horses passing the winning post twice, so that the 
distance between the starting and winning posts was the 
rjun home ; and as it afforded a view of the start, the first 
leap and the finish, it will be readily supposed that it was by 
far the most crowded part of the course. 

“ Course, course, course !”• — The horses are going to start; 
and on galloped two or three stewards, dressed in their scar- 
let coats, cracking their whips and clearing the course be- 
fore them. 

Cars, jingles, and gigs were hurried to the right side of 
the ropes ;, — women, pigs and dogs ran in every one’s way. 
People stood up on the seats of vehicles, and tops of car- 
riages to get a view. Poor Mr. Burke, with a carriage right 
before him, intercepting all view, had to stand at his horse’s 
head, while Mary Jane and Sophia Louisa, despite all mater- 
nal warnings, stood upon the seat of the car, with their arms 
round each other’s waist, and if the horse stirred so much 
as an ear, they gave the prettiest little screams imaginable, 
which had the effect of drawing the attention of some offi- 
cers in the break hard by, whereupon an extemporary tel- 
egraph was established which gave much satisfaction to 
the spectators interested in its success. At this moment 
who should unluckily come down the course, but honest 
Farmer Dwyer, driving his flat car, with its feather bed 
and quilt, and big Mrs. Dwyer, bumping up and down in 
the middle ; for her husband was hurrying off the track, 
where he had no right to be. To do this, he was obliged to 
pass down by the ropes, until he came to where they ter- 
minated, and then he could wheel off. 

Mr. Burke’s car was close to the ropes, and as Mrs. Dwyer 
passed, she recognized her friends. 

“Stop, Tom,” she exclaimed. “ Stop, asthore. May I 
never sin, but there is Mrs. Burke in her beautiful new car.” 

Then, at the top of her voice, she bawled out, as she 
bumped up and down, for her husband was in too great a 
hurry to stop : 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


239 


“ Mow are you, Mrs. Burke, ma’am ? — how are you, girls ? 
So there you are ma’am, as big a fool as myself. Qch, Tom, 
look where you’re driving to. Oh thin, Mrs. Burke, amn’t 
I the misfortunest fool of the world, instead of— stop — och, 
Tom, your’e dishlocating me ! And don’t the girls look beau- 
tiful in their new bonnets ? Mary J ane when will you come 
over ? Sophy your hen’s clucking and I’m going to set un- 
der her — Tom, you’re over a big stone, — a dozen eggs.” 

Mrs. Dwyer, as I have said, bawled all this out at the top 
of her voice, amid shouts of laughter from those in the 
neighborhood of Mr., Burke’s car, who perceived how mala- 
propos was the poor woman’s friendly recognition, while 
the officers in the break commenced to give various imita- 
tions of hens cackling and cocks crowing. 

Mrs. Burke would just as soon Mrs. Dwyer had remained 
at home, but as for Mary Jane and Sophia Louisa, they sat 
down on the seat they had been standing on a moment be- 
fore, in all their pride and glory, their faces crimson with 
shame and vexation. 

“The nasty fat brute,” said Mary Jane, “ to go make such 
a show of us.” 

“ I will never speak to her again,” said Sophy. 

“ What’s the matter with the girls ?” said Mr. Burke. 

“ I believe, Pat, they are annoyed by the way that woman 
addressed us,” replied Mrs. Burke. 

“That woman,” repeated Mr. Burke, “by all that's lovely, 
Mary, but I believe you are getting as foolish as themselves. 
That woman, as you call her, is wife to an honest, decent 
man, and a good customer of ours. By all that’s lovely, I 
wish some people who hold their heads very high, were as 
clear in my books as Tom Dwyer. Let me see no more of 
this ; we are not strangers here, — every one knows who we 
are and what we are ; but if you want to pretend to be 
something better, you must not be vexed when your fool- 
ish pride gets a tumble down.” 

But stop your parental lecture, Mr. Burke, and take your 
horse by the head, for the horses are just going to start. 

“ Course, course, course.” 

“ The crowd press against the ropes, and strain out their 
necks, watching the start. Every one is speaking. The 


240 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


horses are wheeling round ; they are all together now. Stop, 
they’re off, — no; a false start — they wheel round again — all 
together — away — they’re off — off — off — hurra. Here they 
come, — yes, here they come, by thunder, powdering to the 
wall, Ribbonman leading about a length, his head turned 
slightly to one side, as Tom Tinker holds him in, the rest in 
a cluster. A sheet could cover them. When within three 
lengths of the wall, Tom Tinker turns Ribbonman’s head, 
and puts him at it. Hurra ! over, by Nimrod, without a 
touch. Stop — over — over — over — all over. Beautiful, here 
they come by Jupiter; — “course, course, course.” Yes, 
here they come, shaking the ground under them, their 
mouths open, as they strain on the bit, their red nostrils 
expanded. Fresh, fiery and glowing, they flash by the 
stand. Soon they are lost to sight, down in the hollow, 
where there is a wide drain to be jumped. How intense 
the excitement until they reappear. Here they come, one, 
two, three, four, five, six, seven, — four have been left in the 
drain. The Maid of the Mill has taken up the running. 
Skyscraper, (another favorite,) second, Ribbonman third, 
but well held in. Tom Tinker is making a waiting race — 
knowing Tom. Now they came to the third fence, — a 
double ditch. Rake her at it! A balk. The Maid of the 
Mill has balked; Skyscraper follows suit! Way there for 
Ribbonman. Gallantly over, hurrah! The Maid of the 
Mill is turned short and clears the fence. She is soon up to 
Ribbonman, and again takes up the running, the other horses 
well up, except Skyscraper, who remains balking. 

In this order they disappear behind a hill and will not bo 
again in sight until they come to the turn of the run home. 

During the moments the horses take to reach this point, 
the excited crowd is busy speaking of what has been al- 
ready seen of the race and laying bets on the result. Now 
those who had taken their stations at distant leaps, are seen 
galloping across the course, in order to meet the horses at 
the run home ; this gives notice to those at the winning 
post. People get under the ropes and crowd the race-track, 
watching the turn. Here they come, Ribbonman and the 
Maid of the Mill, neck and neck, the rest well up. Beauti- 
ful ! — go it cripples ! — course, course. The crowd fly back, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


241 


the horses are within fifty paces of the wall, the two first 
still neck and neck. Press her, Tom. Both rise together, 
both over ; — no, the mare is down ! — no, well recovered, by 
Nimrod. But she has lost a length; whip and spur bring 
her head up to Bibbonman’s saddle-skirt, but there she re- 
mains ; Tom Tinker’s head slig htly turned as he watches 
her, his hands down on his horse’s withers, his seat as im- 
movable as when he started. 

They are within six lengths of the winning post. The Maid 
of the Mill’s rider buries his spurs in the mare’s side, at the 
same time giving her a frightful cut with the whip. She 
bounds madly forward, but there have been two lengths 
lying idle in Tom Tinker’s wrist; with a movement of hand 
and body, quick as the lightning’s flash, he raises his horie 
and lands him, one length ahead, inside the winning post. 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ! Hurrah ! ! ! 

In a moment the other horses have passed likewise, and 
then follows a crowd of horsemen, amongst whom are the 
poor jockeys who got into the drain. They have been mak- 
ing great efforts to save distance, but are prevented from 
doing so, by the horsemen who crowded in upon the race- 
track. It is useless to call out, “course — course. Like 
other great men, who fall in life’s race, they are rudely hus- 
tled by the motley crowd which, half an hour before, gaped 
at them wiih admiration. 

When the first heat was over and the riders weighed, the 
ground round the stand and winning post became deserted, 
unless by the carriages from which the horses had been 
previously taken. Gentlemen hurried to the different mar- 
quees, to get refreshments, or cantered about the course. 
It so happened that as O’Kelly and Henry Daly were 
going to where Bibbonman was being made up, they en- 
countered a group of gentlemen, amongst whom was Mr. 
Brown. 

This was the first time for Henry to meet with him, since 
their duel, and the young mail’s heart sickened, as he look- 
ed upon his late opponent’s amputated arm. As both parties 
reined up, Henry did not well know how to act, but Brown 
gave him no time for consideration ; he came forward, and 


16 


242 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


throwing the reins on his well trained cob horse, extend- 
ed his left hand, saying, as he did so, 

44 How are you, Daly; you have no objection, I hope, to 
shake hands with me/’, 

Henry grasped his hand, and would, at that moment, have 
given his own to restore the one he had deprived him of. 

44 1 have no ill will toward you, Daly,” continued Mr. Brown, 
44 1 believe you only acted as you should. I have no one 
to blame but myself; I was older than you, and should have 
had more sense, and I like you for your pluck. We are 
friends, I hope ? 

44 How can you doubt it ; I am but too glad to have it so,” 
replied Henry, warmly pressing the hand which he still held. 

There are two things which the Irish peasantry love, 
even in an enemy, courage and chivalrous courtesy ; and 
no people are more capable of recognizing the latter. An 
Irish crowd, too, is always on the lookout for something 
amusing or interesting. Before Browm and Henry had ex- 
changed two words, a number of people had collected around 
them, and when Henry had ceased to speak, hats and caps 
were thrown in the air. “High for Daly,” shouted the crowd. 

44 Ay, boys, and high for Brown, too, lie's a gentleman, and 
soldier every inch of him.” 

Henry smiled and touched his hat, but the very sound of 
their voices was poison to Brown. 

He might have addressed to them the words of Coriola* 
nus, 

You common cry of curs, 

Whose breath I hate. 

His good humor completely forsook him, a dark scowl of 
hate passed over his face, and raising his hat, he bowed 
coldly to Daly and Kelly, and rode on. 

44 Poor Brown,” said Henry, looking after him. 

44 By Jove, boys,” said Anthony, addressing the crowd, 
“the sight of you, is to Brown, what w r ater is to a mad dog, 
you make him foam at the mouth.” 

44 He to the dickens,” answered the crowd. 

44 High for Daly, high for O’Kelly, hurrah !” 

Oh, sweet-tongued multitude, you are the same since 
the days of the banished Homan I 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


243 * 


There was an hour between the first and second heats,, 
which each person and party passed according to their 
resources and inclinations. 

Mr. Burke winked to some friends, and retired with them 
and his family to the shady side of a fence, and then and 
there commenced an onslaught on cold fowls, ham, wine, &c. r 
&c., all of which^he had brought in the well of his car. 

Many of his class went and did likewise, but the aristo- 
cratic portion of the spectators had no notion of taking the 
trouble to look out for private places ; they cared not how 
many of the unwashed looked upon them feeding. Bask- 
ets were taken from under the rumbles of carriage ; ladies 
took the wings of chickens in their delicate fingers, and 
gentlemen, acting as waiters, shot the corks out of cham- 
pagne bottles. 

Both O’Boarke and his son were on the course. After tho 
first heat the former betook himself, with a few congenial 
spirits, to a tent where they drank deep. But Tim could 
not think of eating or drinking while such an opportunity 
offered for showing off his handsome figure. Although the 
day was cold enough for persons not taking violent exer- 
cise to wear overcoats, Tim’s dress was light enough for the 
dog-days, he had on ligh lavender trousers, white vest, and 
light blue coat, thrown back to show the white vest and 
frilled shirt, to the best advantage. He wore his hat “ on 
three hairs,” as it is termed, with his red locks, through which 
he was continually running his fingers, sticking out on each* 
side. 

With a supercilious smile on his face, and a fancy kid. 
glove dangling from his mouth, he ogled the ladies in the* 
different carriages as he passed along. Had Emily been 
there, she must, of necessity, have flown home, and, on bend- 
ed knee, implored her father to bestow her on Tim. So. 
thought Tim, himself, but — 

“ Wad some power the giftie gie us, 

To see ourselves, as others see us.” 

In truth, Tim was at that moment about as miserable 
looking a scarecrow as one would care to look at,— a mar- 
tyr to his prized gentility, shivering with cold, his teeth 


244 


THE -DALYS OF DALYSTOWST. 


chattering, so as nearly to prevent his playing fetch and 
carry with his glove, and his face blue with cold. 

“ Who the devil is that?” asked a gentleman of a friend. 

“That thing there,” replied the friend, “how should I 
know? I would guess him, though, to be an unprincipled 
servant out of place, who ran away with the clothes his 
master gave him to brush, last summer.” 

“ Is it who he is, your honor?” said an old* cripple who was 
hobbling about on crutches, soliciting alms. “ He’s young 
O’ltoarke, your honor, son to ould O’Roarke, your honor, and 
him’s the biggest fool, your honor, we have in these parts. 
Long life to your honor, and throw the poor cripple one lit- 
tle sixpence.” 

The gentleman threw a piece of money into his hat, where- 
upon he set off, and in a few long springs, came up with 
Tim. 

“Long life to your lordship,” he whined out, “and who 
knows but that yo-ur lordship’s honor would throw a shilling 
or half a crown herself to a poor cripple.” 

Tim was not of an over generous nature, but to be mis- 
taken tfor a lord, was worth money, any day. He drew a 
shilling from his pocket, and throwing it with a contemp- 
tuous, careless air, on the ground, passed on, while he actu- 
ally got warm from the glow of pride that shot through 
him. 

“ It is strange,” mused Tim, “ this is not the first time 
that fellow has addressed me as lord. I wonder what noble- 
man he takes me for, I wish I knew.” 

Poor Tim, had he suddenly turned round, what a shock 
his vanity would have received; for there, looking after 
him, was the old hypocrite leaning on his crutches, his 
tongue sticking out at the side of his mouth, and his fingers 
extended from his nose in a very suspicious manner. 

During this hour, too, the tents became crowded, music, 
dancing, drinking and love-making, being the order of the 
day. 

Mrs. Brady was heard to declare that she had enough to 
do for four hands, “ but, glory be to God, they were drink- 
ing like lambs, without as much as the sign of a scrimmage.” 

But a cloud, “ no bigger than a man’s hand,” was gather- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


245 


ing over Mrs. Brady’s horizon, or rather no bigger than a 
man ; for just as Mrs. Brady was rejoicing in the lamb-like 
quiet of her flock, her cloud, in the shape of Murty Joyce, 
walked out of a neighboring tent. 

v Murty was a huge young fellow, with a head impervious 
to sticks, who, after making himself hoarse shouting for 
O’Kelly and Ribbonman, had gone to a tent to wet his 
throat with half a pint of whiskey ; and, as he now sallied 
forth, he looked about him with the uncertain air of a man 
who did not well know what to do to kill time. 

“ By gorras,” said he, “ it’s as quiet as a Quakers’ meet- 
ing, I wonder where the dirty Murphys are hiding them- 
selves. There’s no fun stirring at all.” 

As Murty strolled by Mrs. Brady’s tent, he saw the figure 
of a man’s back defined against the canvass. 

The tent was densely crowded, and as the owner of the 
back was pressed against the canvass, it bulged out. Whom 
he might be, whether friend or foe, Murty did not know, 
perhaps did not care ; but at all events it was too great a 
temptation to be resisted by a boy like Murty, sighing for 
a spree. So, spitting on the hand that held his stick, he 
hit the canvass a whack that made the man inside bellow, 
while Murty, outside, shouted with laughter. 

Whack, whack, went the stick, the man making every 
effort to get out of its wav. 

“ Blood alive,” he shouted, “ will ye’s clear the way there, 
don’t you see I’m kilt from behind ? Oh, tear-a-nouns, let 
me out the doore, tal I murder the treacherous villain of 
the world.” 

But it was impossible to go 

— “ Rushing out of doors, to see 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no.” 

And as the knocking continued without intermission, the 
sufferer inside dropped upon his knees and commenced to 
crawl out from under the tent, disclosing, as he did so, to 
the delighted Murty, the red head of Shawn Murphy, — the 
very head that he, Murty Joyce, had been looking for in 
half the tents on the course. 

“ Whew !” he exclaimed, Ci Here’s luck. I’m sorry to dis- 
turb you, Mister Murphy, from your divarsion, but as you 


246 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


are to the fore now, we may as well see out that little bus- 
iness we had at the fair of Loughrea. Get up, man alive, 
I’d scorn to take a dirty advantage of you.” 

“ So it is to you, Mister Joyce, I’m beholden for murder- 
ing me out and out, in the dark,” said Murphy, jumping on 
his legs. “ Oh, what need I doubt it, who would it be but 
a treacherous sarpent of a Joyce !” 

“ May I never break bread, Shawn, if I knew whose back 
it was.” 

“ By the hole in my coat then, Murty, I’m the boy that 
will soon show you whose back it was. Whoop ! take that ! 
High for Murphy.” 

“ High for Joyce ! Whoop !” shouted Murty, returning 
the compliment just received. 

No sooner were these war cries heard, than out rushed 
from the different tents the friends of the two combatants, 
and in less time than I have taken to record it, there were 
upwards of fifty or sixty people engaged in breaking each 
other’s heads, and as men kept continually joining either 
side, every weapon that could be laid hands on was in 
requisition, — the demand far exceeding the supply. 

Pipers and fiddlers were knocked off chairs and stools, 
and the legs of the two latter (mind, not the former,) con- 
verted into weapons of offense and defense ; even the long 
poles that supported the tents, were in some instances 
torn up. 

“ In the midst of the melee and uproar Mrs. Brady’s voice 
was heard exclaiming, as she stood clapping her hands in 
front of her tent : 

“ Oh, boys, jewels! Oh, honey darlings! fight fair and 
keep out from the tent. Where are you hiding yourself, 
James Brady, you poor sneak you ? Will you see your prap- 
erty smashed into smithereens? Oh, wirra, there’s all my 
illigant glass gone, and I all as one as a lone woman, for 
sure the creature I have is no manner of use whatsomever.” 

At this moment a little man who had been standing on 
an empty barrel, bottom up, looking on at the fight, received 
a blow which sent him spinning off the barrel and landed 
him in a sitting position, in Mrs. Brady’s boiling pot. 

“ Saints above us,” she exclaimed, “ look where Mick 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


247 


Finigan, the tailor, has the presumption to place himself. 
You nineteenth part of a fraction of a man, how dare you 
destroy the beautiful vittels ? Faith, as you made so free, 
you must have a good taste of them.” And glad to have 
some thing or some one to vent her rage upon, she placed 
her broad hands on the unfortunate tailor’s shoulders and 
commenced forcing him down into the pot, until maddened 
by pain, he gave her a kick which sent her on her back, 
whilst the tailor, pot, bacon and cabbage went rolling in an 
opposite direction. 

“ Here’s the Peelers ! here’s the Peelers, boys !” shouted 
several voices, as a party of police were seen hurrying 
across the course, in the direction of the combatants. 

There was a cessation of hostilities and an evident idea 
of joining forces to repel the common enemy. 

“ Lick the Peelers,” shouted a voice, “ and see it out after- 
wards.” 

But just then the bugle sounded to bring the horses to 
the post for the second heat, and police, fight, all were for- 
gotten, as the crowd broke up, laughing, shouting and run- 
ning. 

“ By dad, it was a pretty fight enough while it lasted, 
Mat,” said a young fellow to his companion, as both hur- 
ried across the course. “Murty Joyce is a clane fighter, 
but the blasted Peelers spoil every kind of divarsion.” 

“ But Neddy,” asked the other, “ did you see Mary Brady 
holding little Mick Finigan down in the pot?” 

“ Oh, didn’t I,” answered Neddy. “ Devil a boord he’ll 
sit upon, I’m thinking, for a month of Sundays.” 

But eight horses were to start for the second heat, and 
every one made for their former positions as quickly as pos- 
sible, between the sounding of the first and second bugle. 

Mr. Burke, who had seen little or nothing of the first 
heat, was determined to witness this one. 

“ It is my turn this time, Mike,” he said to his servant, 
“ so hold the mare’s head while the horses are running, and 
don’t leave her.” 

“ Never fear, sir,” replied the servant, and Mr. Burke, 
holding the reins in his hand, stood up on the seat of his car. 

Once more the same buzzing and excitement — the horses 


248 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


wheeling round. “ Stay, — away, — they’re off, — they’re off.” 

“ They are off,” shouted Mr. Burke, waving his hat. 

u My God, you are off, Pat,” screamed his wife, as Mr. 
Burke made an involuntary somersault to the ground. 

Despite the caution the servant had received, he had, in 
his anxiety to see the horses pass, moved from the mare, 
and just as he did so, a parasol falling from a carriage close 
by, struck her on the head. Attracted by Mrs. Burke’s 
scream, the servant turned round in time to see his master 
fall, and he leaped forward to catch the mare but was too 
late. It is almost impossible to stay a frightened horse 
when allowed to take the first jump or so unchecked. 
With a few wild bounds the animal scattered the crowd in 
every direction, and though it would have appeared, a mo- 
ment before, impracticable to take the car from the position 
it was then in, without first removing some of the vehicles 
by which it was surrounded, yet, before Mr. Burke had re- 
gained his legs, she had performed that feat, and went dash- 
ing across the course. 

Mr. Burke had received no injury from his fall, and he 
and his careless servant now set off in the direction the 
runaway had taken. The ground over which the car was 
whirled was at first level, so that Mrs. Burke and her daugh- 
ters managed to hold on, but presently they came to a 
part that had been laid down in wheaten ridges, and Mary 
Jane was seen flying in the air; then Sophia Louisa, and, 
lastly, Mrs. Burke came bounding on mother earth, while 
the frightened animal continued her mad course, until, in 
endeavoring to cross a small drain, she fell bleeding and 
exhausted. 

As the mare had not taken a direct course, but swerved 
to every side, in avoiding those who endeavored to stop 
her, Mrs. Burke, though the last to fall off, was the first of 
his family with whom Mr. Burke came up. He found his 
good lady sitting on the ground in a kind of half con- 
scious, bewildered, wife-thunder trance. 

“ Mary, my heart,” he exclaimed, as he knelt down and 
put his arm round her waist, “ are you much hurt? Oh no, 
I see you are not, your color is as good as ever. Stand up 
now, and you will find that there is nothing the matter 
with you.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


249 


As he spoke he attempted to assist his wife to rise, but 
a loud scream from the lady made him desist and jump up, 
pale and alarmed. 

“For God’s sake, Mary,” he exclaimed, “ what is the matter, 
where are hurt, are there any of your bones broken ?” 

“ Any,” replied Mrs. Burke, in tones of scornful despair, 
as she looked down towards her feet, which, to her hus- 
band’s great relief, she moved in and out with perfect 
freedom, “ any, Mr. Burke ? I am all dislocated ; not 
the breadth of your nail of me together. Go sir, if you 
repent of your conduct, and get me a priest. My poor, 
poor children are past his help, but they were innocent 
creatures and had not much to answer for. Pat Burke, I 
forgive you and am sorry for you.” 

By this time, Mr. Burke saw pretty clearly how matters 
stood. 

“ Heavens, woman,” he exclaimed, in rather rough tones 
to his departing wife, “what are you talking about? Get up 
and let me go to the girls. They have too much good 
Galway blood in them to mind a tumble from a car.” 

But the departing woman heeded him not. 

“Mary Jane was killed first,” she said, “and then Sophia 
Louisa.” 

“ By all that’s lovely the woman has lost her senses. 
Mary, will you try and stand up, and let me go to the girls ? 
Ah, here they come, I see their bonnets moving in the 
crowd over there.” / 

“ Their beautiful bonnets,” sighed Mrs. Burke, as with 
the assistance of her husband, she arose slowly from the 
ground, “ they are, of course, made mummy of, and never 
can be worn again.” 

“Never mind the bonnets, Mary ; you are not so bad all out 
or you would not think of them.” 

This was an injudicious remark for Mr. Burke to make 
at the time, and was very near compelling Mrs. Burke to 
retrace her steps to the door of the silent tomb. 

“ Qh, oh,” screamed the lady. 

“ What is the matter now ?” asked her husband. * 

“ Oh my heart,” moaned Mrs. Burke. “ I do not think, 
Pat Burke, you intended it; but, if I die, people will talk 
about you ; oh, oh, my heart is so sore.” 


250 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ By all that’s lovely, Mary,” sai&her husband, “ from the 
position I found you in, when I came up, I would say, that 
your heart is not the sorest part of you.” 

This unfeeling sally would, no doubt, have necessitated 
Mrs. Burke, at least, to faint right off, did not the servant, 
who, culprit like, had been eyeing his mistress, now call 
out, 

“ Here they are, ma’am, on Mr. Dwyer’s car, and devil a 
feather out of them.” 

Mike spoke thus figuratively, meaning, thereby, that the 
young ladies were unhurt, but Mrs. Burke, whose thoughts 
were divided by anxiety for the safety of her daughters 
and their bonnets, understood him as alluding to the latter, 
so she replied : 

“You cannot know, at this distance, you unlucky vaga- 
bond, whether the feathers are out of them or not.” 

Mike stared at her, and Mr. Burke, who perceived the 
absurdity of her mistake, turned his head to one side, lest 
she might see him laughing, mentally vowing to remember 
it as a good joke against her. 

From the moment Tom Dwyer’s car appeared, Mr. Burke 
felt quite satisfied as to the safety of his daughters, for Tom 
had kept waving his hat in a joyous manner. 

“ Here they are,” he exclaimed, as he drove up, “ safe and 
sound, barring the fright. Mary and myself were delayed 
by some friends in a tent until the horses started, and as we 
were making our way across the course the young ladies 
fell quite close to us. The sight left my own eyes when I 
saw them falling. I hope Mrs. Burke is not hurt, sir ?” 

“ More frightened than hurt, Tom, I hope,” replied Mr. 
Burke. “ I am sure we are very much obliged to you ; you 
are always in the way to do a good turn, Tom.” 

As soon as the flat car had stopped, the Misses Burke 
jumped down and ran to their mother, who embraced them 
in a very tragic manner, and, as she raised her eyes to 
heaven, to give thanks for their miraculous escape, she 
failed not to observe if their bonnets were equally fortunate. 

Alas, no ! Sophia Louisa’s was literally “ knocked into 
a cocked hat.” 

“ Your father, my dears,” said Mrs. Burke, “did not in- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


251 


tend anything, although he was so positive about putting 
that dreadful horse under the car.” 

“ Didn’t intend what, ma’am ?” asked Tom Dwyer. 

The honest surprise in which the jolly farmer put this 
question, made Mrs. Burke ashamed of the conjugal line of 
ill humor she had adopted against her husband, so she re- 
plied, 

“ I mean that Mr. Burke did not foresee any danger, or 
he would have taken my advice, and drove our steady fam- 
ily horse.” 

“ To be sure he would,” said Dwyer. 

“And you know, mamma,” said Mary Jane, “it was Sophy’s 
and my fault, and not papa’s, for we were coaxing him all 
the week to bring the young mare.” 

“Thank you, Mary Jane/’ replied her father. “By all 
that’s lovely, if I am tried at the next assizes, and your 
mother comes forward to swear I killed her, I must have you 
and Sophy for witnesses.” 

By this time Mrs. Dwyer, with the assistance of her hus- 
band, had managed to roll herself off the car, and coming 
up to Mrs. Burke, commenced to console her after a fashion 
of Mrs. Dwyer’s own, by telling her she was the most mis- 
fortunest fool of a woman in the world, “but,” she concluded, 
“thank God, there are no bones broken, and if you like, 
Mrs. Burke, you and the girls can have the flat car to go 
home in. There’s a beautiful feather bed on it, and Tom 
will drive you himself. I’ll get a seat home with some of 
the neighbors.” 

Although Mary Jane and Sophia (being good girls at 
heart,) could not listen to the kind, good-natured tones of 
their humble friend without feeling thankful to her, still 
they eyed the flat car and feather bed with woe-begone 
looks. Their glances did not escape Mrs. Dwyer, but she 
was too good-humored and, withal, contented with her po- 
sition, to feel either vexed or humiliated ; on the contrary, 
she laughed until her fat sides shook. 

“ I know girls,” she said, “ that you would be ashamed to 
be seen driving out of the course on the flat car, before all 
the company, but Tom will wait until they’re all gone, and 
then no one will see you ; that is, if you cannot get a bet- 
ter way for them, Mr. Burke.” 


252 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


There was a self respect in Mrs. Dwyer’s hearty laugh 
that contrasted well with the silly pride of the young girls, 
and rebuked it. Mary Jane kissed her red cheek and said, 

“ We are neither ashamed of you or your car, Mrs. Dwyer, 
but if we go home in it, you must come with us, and we 
will make you as comfortable as we can.” 

“ And I will play all the old Irish airs you like so much,” 
added Sophia. 

“ Well said, my darlings,” exclaimed Mr. Burke. “ By all 
that’s lovely, for them same words you shall have the gold 
chains you were hinting about last week. Halloa, Tom, 
do you hear that cheer ? Ribbonman has won the race, I 
bet my life. Stay here for a moment, like a good fellow, 
until I run over to the winning post to hear the news. If 
I can, Mary, I will get a car to bring you and the girls 
home.” And away went Mr. Burke at the top of his speed, 
but, before he had proceeded far across the course, he was 
confirmed in his supposition that Ribbonman had won the 
day, by seeing the renowned Tom Tinker borne aloft on the 
shoulders of the crowd, who were cheering lustily for 
O’Kelly, Rutledge and Ribbonman. 

A hack race terminated the day’s sport, and by the time 
it was over, night had almost set in, but that made little 
difference, as the moon, which was at its full, rose about 
sunset. 

The greater number of the vehicles on leaving the course, 

were driven in the direction of the town of T , where 

there was to be, on this evening, a ball and ordinary, — the 
former exclusive, being confined to those invited by mem- 
bers of the Galway hunt ; the latter open to the public. 

Tim O’Roarke had resolved to attend the ordinary, so he 
did not accompanjr his father home, as the Lake View road 
was in an opposite direction to the one leading to T . 

O’Roarke had drank deeply during the day and, pot-val- 
iant, he set out alone to return home ; a very unusual thing 
for him to do, especially after sunset. 

For upwards of three miles, the road he traveled over 
was crowded with persons like himself, returning from the 
races. The rapid rate he rode at enabled him to pass all 
those whom he overtook and, when after half an hour’s hard 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


253 


riding, he turned into a less frequented road and had con- 
tinued on it for about a mile, he found himself altogether 
alone. He seemed now, for the first time, to be aware of 
the lateness of the hour, for as he noticed the long shad- 
ow his figure flung upon the grass bordering the road, he 
reined in his horse and looked up at the sky. The red flush 
that drinking had given to his face passed away and he be- 
came thoroughly sober. 

“ By , it’s moonlight,” he exclaimed. “ What a cur- 

sed fool I am to be traveling here alone, at such an hour. 
I would sooner do it the darkest night that ever came. 
Well, I suppose after all, there is not much danger. Every 
d — n ruffian in the country has been at those races and is 
still drinking in the tents. I will be home now in no time.” 

He was now about three miles from his house, and, spurring 
his horse, he again set off at a pace that promised to bring 
him speedily there. After traveling two miles farther, he 
came to another road leading directly to his home; this was 
merely a by-road, passing by the avenue gate of Lake View, 
and terminating at a village, a mile farther on. High banks, 
with quickset growing on their tops, bounded it on either 
side, and the lands adjoining were farmed by O’Roarke. 
A few years before the period I am writing of, a large vil- 
lage dotted this road, and one could still trace out where 
the little cottage gardens stood, by the rich green look of 
the grass in those spots. A few old mouldering walls, too, 
still remained standing on the sites of the former houses, — 
perishable records, witnessing that a little community of aim-* 
pie warm-hearted people had, for generations, lived, laugh- 
ed toiled, wept and died, here, while the wrong that drove 
them hence, was registered on the eternal records of Him 
who has said “ vengance is mine, and I will repay it.” 

What crime was charged against them, to drive them thus 
forth, houseless wanderers over the earth ? Behold it here ! 
Mark how humble must have been the roof that surmount- 
ed these walls, and then the richness of the land around. 
Down in the valley is the dwelling of the middleman, the 
purse-proud spawn of misgovernment and wrong. These 
Leicester sheep and Durham cattle are his, the people have 
been banished to make room for those nobler animals, and 


254 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


the sheep and the oxen and the middleman thrive and fat- 
ten. But the people ? Ah ! some of them have not journey- 
ed far, but have laid their broken hearts in the lonely church 
yard, beside the bones of their kindred, others are stroll 
ing paupers; others of them again, have found homes in 
distant lands. Many of them have prospered, but the smile 
has passed forever from their faces, for the lightness of heart 
from whence it sprung has been quenched with the fires of 
their humble hearths. 

One still remains to haunt these familiar scenes. There 
is no land, no spot of earth, in this wide world, that can give 
him a home. — A home ! Where are those who should share 
it with him — the gentle wife that lay upon his manly breast, 
the child that danced in light before his eyes ? Dead ! mur- 
dered, as he believes, and for many a day their forms have 
been before his crazed imagination. At one time as they 
were in life : then again as they lay dead, the cold rain beat- 
ing on their colder faces — but in whatever forms or shapes 
they come, ever beckoning him to revenge. And now he 
feels that their murderer approaches ; he hears his horse’s 
step upon the road from where he lies crouching like a 
tiger — the veins on his forehead filled almost to bursting, 
his breathing short, and his sunken eyes glaring through 
the bushes that conceal his form from view. Ever and 
anon, he passes his hand across his eyes, — a mist of blood is 
dancing before them. 

When O’Roarke turned down the by-road his pace was 
changed from a quick trot to a furious gallop ; a sudden 
fear, or presentiment of danger, seemed to take possession 
of him, for as he rode along, he kept throwing his head to the 
right and left, as if expecting to see a hidden enemy. In a 
few minutes he had reached his avenue gate, and, with a sigh 
of relief, he reined up his horse. As he was about to draw 
the gate towards him, he perceived that there had been two 
or three large stones placed against it, which prevented it 
from opening. 

“ Blast them,” he muttered, “ they want to show how care- 
ful they are in my absence.” 

Dismounting, he tied his horse by the rein to the gate, 
and just as he did so, there was a report— * a flash,—* and 


TIIE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


255 


O’Roarke staggered against the gate. Recovering himself, 
and uttering a loud cry of “murder,” he endeavored to 
reach his horse. At the same moment Bryan Lorkin club- 
bing the gun which he had just discharged, leaped out upon 
the road. The height from which he jumped, checked him 
for a moment, and gave O’Roarke time to draw a pistol from 
his breast. Had he been a cool, brave man, Lorkin was 
now completely in his power ; but, as it was, he fired wildly, 
without taking aim, and before he could draw a second pis- 
tol, his enemy was upon him. Utterin a yell of rage, Lor- 
kin swung the gun over his head, but O’Roarke stooped, 
and the blow aimed at him struck the gate, shivering the 
stock off the barrel. Flinging the gun from him, Lorkin grap- 
pled with his adversary. O’Roarke was a powerful man, 
and, despite the strength that his mad fury might have lent, 
for a moment, to the emaciated frame of Lorkin, the former 
would have quickly overpowered him, but that he was bad- 
ly wounded, both in the side and shoulder by the slugs with 
which the gun had been loaded. 

Uttering a cry for mercy, he was borne to the ground, and 
Lorkin, placing both knees upon his chest, grasped him by 
the throat. 

Whether it was that the dreadful hold his murderer hr.d 
taken prevented him from speaking, or that one glance at 
those horrid, pitiless eyes, glaring down upon him, made 
him feel how hopeless would be an appeal for mercy; 
O’Roarke never spoke after he had fallen. Thus they 
struggled for a few moments — ages to the bad man who 
now battled for life — their faces so close that each felt the 
hot breath of the other as it came hissing through their 
clenched teeth. 

Presently, O’Roarke’s features became swollen and dis- 
torted, and his eyes protruded from his head; in a few 
seconds the struggle would be over. At this moment he 
perceived a knife concealed in his enemy’s bosom ; a ray 
of hope rallied his failing energies, he snatched it from 
its place of concealment and plunged it into Lorkin’s side. 
Drawing it out, he would have repeated the blow, but a 
thrill of pain, of fear, lest his victim was about to escape 
from him, shot through the murderer’s frame ; those bony 


256 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


fingers closed like an iron vice upon the throat they held, 
and the knife dropped from O’Boarke’s powerless hand. 
Then a gurgling sound issued from his throat, the blood 
started from his nostrils, his frame shivered, his under jaw 
fell upon his chest, and the murderer knew as he gazed 
upon him that he was dead. 

But that look was not one of triumph, but of utter 
horror and despair; for as the poor wretch’s strength 
ebbed with the life-blood which flowed from his side, the 
darkness with which wrong and sorrow had clouded his 
mind passed away, and his soul awoke to the full conscious- 
ness of his crime. A thousand voices yelled in his ears, 
“ murderer !” The night winds took up that cry, and, whirl- 
ing it round his head, sped with it away, away, through the 
world ! The earth shook under him, as it belched forth the 
damning word ; he clasped his hands feebly together. 
“ Mercy, sweet Saviour !” he murmured, as he rolled upon 
his back. Thus, the murdered and the murderer, the op- 
pressor and the avenger, lay side by side, in death. 

Up to this the horse had remained quiet, but now, as he 
scented the blood which flowed from the bodies, a terrible 
fear seized upon him. His whole frame shook, and from 
every pore of his body, there started big drops of sweat ; 
then, as the bloody stream crept closer and closer to him, 
his fear became frenzy, he neighed wildly, gave one fierce 
plunge, and, snapping the rein by which he was held, 
rushed madly up the road, ever and anon snorting and 
turning his head in the direction from whence he came. 
A few moments, and the clatter of his hooves had died 
away in the distance. Then all was silence, while the 
stars looked down upon the faces of the dead, and into 
those sightless eyes upturned to the sky. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


267 


CHAPTER XXI 

It is said that in England nothing is ever done in time ; 
that is, nothing of importance, until some startling event 
takes place, showing the necessity for action. u They will 
be locking the doors of those railway carriages on passen- 
gers,” said Rev. Sidney Smith, “ until a bishop is burned.” 
It would be very charitable to attribute to this national 
trait of character the supineness which the English gov- 
ernment has always evinced in dealing with agrarian crime 
in Ireland, until it culminated to a certain point, especially 
when a far more tangible reason can be adduced. O’Con- 
nell had proclaimed, over and over, that u he who commit- 
ted a crime gave strength to the enemy.” (Alas ! for the 
country whose government was that enemy !) And the 
government of England endorsed this truth, by fostering 
crime in Ireland, with the object of making it subservient 
to their designs. Therefore, when any district became in- 
fected with agrarian crime, there were, at first, no steps 
taken to put it down ; on the contrary, the police, gene- 
rally, denied its existence. Mr. Bull had trained his dogs 
too well to allow of their running in and “ flushing the 
game,” but when the infection had spread until men were 
shot dowm at their own doors, then the government awoke, 
martial law was proclaimed, special commissions were sent 
down to hang a certain number of persons ; whether those 
so hanged were the guilty parties or not, made but little dif- 
ference. The Minister of the day demanded from Parlia- 
ment measures more stringent than those which were at 
the very root of the evil he pretended to deplore, or made 
use of the crimes of the few as arguments for withholding 
the rights of the many. That the English government was 
not sincere in its efforts to suppress agrarian outrages in 
Ireland, no one conversant with the facts, can deny; that 
it had, from time to time, paid agents to encourage these 
17 


268 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


outrages, I at least, believe. It would, indeed, be impossi- 
ble to prove any connection between the Lord Lieutenant, 
in Dublin Castle, and such a ruffian as Maloney in the coun- 
try ; but connections between villains of his stamp and the 
police have been frequently proved and exposed, and the 
Castle of Dublin and police barracks of Ireland stand in 
very close relationship to each other. 

I have deemed it necessary to say this much, to show that 
Maloney, in establishing a ribbon lodge, in the neighbor- 
hood of Dalvstown, might have believed that he was en- 
gaged in a safe and profitable speculation. He felt per- 
fectly confident that he would be allowed time to ensnare 
his dupes ; and when he had led them to the perpetration of 
some great crime, he could turn on them, and pocket the 
reward which the government would be sure to offer. This 
being so, he was by no means prepared for the turn subse- 
quent events took. 

No sooner had the murder of O’Roarke become known, 
than there issued from the Castle, a government reward of 
five hundred pounds to any person who would give infor- 
mation that would lead to the conviction of one or more of 
those who were supposed to have conspired with the late 
Bryan Lorkin, for the purpose of murdering O’Roarke. ;In 
the meantime, two judges were requested to keep them- 
selves in readiness to go down on a special commission, 
when the crown solicitor would notify that he had a suf- 
ficiently respectable number bagged, ready for hanging ; 
for the government never doubted but that its friend, the 
informer, was lurking somewhere. 

About two o’clock in the morning, on the day after this 
proclamation appeared posted on the outside of the differ- 
ent police barracks in the district, a party of fourteen po- 
lice, under the command of a sergeant, entered their bar- 
rack, which was about four miles distant from Lake View, 
and stood at a point where four roads branched off, com- 
pletely isolated from the house, — one of those picturesque, 
rural little specimens of “ law and order ” architecture, 
that a paternal government has scattered, broadcast, over 
the country. As soon as the police party entered, the door 
was locked and bolted, and the men commenced divesting 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


269 


themselves of their wet overcoats, — for it had been rain- 
ing most of the time they were out on duty, — examining 
and wiping their muskets, and placing the latter, together 
with their side arms, on racks, set round the room to re- 
ceive them. Two men, who had been left as guard, assist- 
ed the sergeant to get off his wet coat, and. as he turned 
his back to a fine fire, he drew a pair of handcuffs from his 
pocket, and flinging them upon a table, enquired if all was 
right in his absence ? “ All right,” replied one of the men. 

* I suppose they’re in bed,” said the sergeant, pointing to 
an inner room. “ These four hours ; they thought you’d be 
bringing home with you some friends they’d as soon not 
meet.” 

“ I never had such blasted bad luck,” replied the sergeant, 
“not a man, in any of the houses we visited ; it must have got 
wind that this fellow came in. I wouldn’t care so much, if 
I had the old bird caged ; the others can be had after a lit- 
tle, but if he suspects anything, he’ll be off, God knows 
where,.” 

“ You were after him to-night ?” 

“ Yes, but missed him. Come my men,” continued the * 
lergeant turning to the others, “ tumble into bed.” 

The men were glad to obey this command, and in a few 
moments the sergent andjthe two men that constituted 
the guard, were left alone. The former had but waited to 
give some parting instructions, and was in the act of leav- 
ing the room, when a low knocking was heard at the outer 
door. 

“Who the dickens can that be?” he said, stopping short. 

“ May be some traveler that saw the light, and wants to 
enquire his road,” replied one of the men. 

“ I am mistaken,” said the sergeant, “ if that’s not the 
knock of some one who is afraid of something.” 

The knocking was now renewed a little louder. 

“ Go, Dwyer,” said the sergeant, “ and see who it is.” 

The man went to the outer door. 

“Who is there?” he asked. 

“ I want to see Sergeant Murphy,” replied a voice from 
the outside. 

“ What do you want with him ?” 


270 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I can’t tell that to any one but himself.” 

“ Open the door, Dwyer,” said the sergeant. “ A nice hour 
you come,” said the policeman, as he unbarred the door and 
opened it. 

“Its the best hour for me,” replied a man entering. He 
wore a large frieze coat, with the collar turned up ; a hand- 
kerchief concealed the lower part of his face, and his hat 
was drawn tightly down over his eyebrows. As he entered 
the room, he removed the hat and handkerchief, disclosing, 
as he did so, the ruffian features of Maloney. 

“ By G — ,” he said, as he shook the rain off him, “ the 
night is as dark as a crow’s wing.” 

“ What do you want with me ?” asked Sergeant Murphy, 
eyeing his visitor keenly. 

Maloney moved over to him ; his manner had all the fa* 
miliar ease of one who believes he has that to tell which 
will mah&^him welcome. 

“ Whispbr,” he said, “ let the men go away, and I will 
tell you.” 

“ Go into the next room men,” said the sergeant. “ Now 
what’s your business ? Be quick, I want to go to bed.” 

Maloney had very coolly drawn a chair to the fire and 
commenced warming his hands over the blaze. 

“ Easy, sergeant,” he replied, “ give me time to draw my 
breath ; I had a run, I tell you.” Then sinking his voice 
to a whisper, “ maybe I’m come to give you a little informa- 
tion.” 

“ About what ?” 

“ About O’Boarke's business,” he replied, his voice still 
lower, whilst he keenly watched the effect his words would 
have ; but, to his great astonishment, the sergeant did not 
seem much moved by this information. 

“ What is your name ?” asked the latter. 

“I’m more or less a stranger in these parts,” replied Ma- 
loney, avoiding a direct answer, “ but the police, in Tip- 
perary, know me well, and would give a good character 
of me.” 

Before he had concluded, the sergeant snatched the can- 
dle off the table, and now, holding it close to Maloney’s 
face, examined his features with an interest not agreeable 
to that worthy. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


271 


“Faith you’ll know me again,” lie said, endeavoring ot 
appear at ease. 

“ I think I will,” replied the policeman, as he replaced 
the candle on the table. “ I think I know you now ; your 
name is John Maloney.” 

“ I’m not ashamed of my name, Sergeant Murphy.” 

“ Whew,” whistled the Sergeant, “ here’s luck. Dwyer,” 
he called out, “ do you and Clarke come here.” 

When the men had entered the room, the Sergeant went 
over to the door, and, closing it, let a heavy bolt fall across.” 

“This is John Maloney, men,” said Sergeant Murphy, as 
he took a seat on the corner of the table, (a position which 
commanded the door) whilst he took up the handcuffs, he 
had thrown upon it, and twirled them round his fingers. 
“ This is, Mr. John Maloney, himself, that’s good enough to 
come see us.” 

“ Maloney !” said Dwyer, in accents of delighi|k“ by dad, 
Mr. Maloney, you’re a decent man, to come he™ of your 
own accord, and save us the trouble of hunting the country 
for you.” 

“What’s the meaning of all this?” said Maloney whose 
face had grown ashy pale, “if yees can find nothing better 
to do, than to humbug a man that’s come as a friend to the 
government, I’ll just go my way and find them that will 
be glad to listen to me.” 

As he spoke, he stood up and made a step forward, but 
the sergeant motioned him back. 

“ Sit down, Maloney,” he said, “ we’re not going to part 
so soon, for I’m after traveling over a good many miles to 
have a word with you.” 

“ Why, who told you I had anything to tell ?” 

“ Devil a one, avick, it is the other way, ’tis something I 
have to tell you.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ That you are my prisoner,” answered the sergeant. 

“ Here, Dwyer, put on the ‘ darbies,’ ” and he tossed the 
handcuffs to the man he addressed. 

When Maloney saw the policeman advancing to him, he 
fell back in the chair, paralyzed with fear; his huge limbs 
shook in every joint, and Dwyer beckoned over the other 


272 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOvvN. 


policeman to assist in holding his arms steady while he 
placed the handcuffs on his wrists. 

This ruffian, whose trade was blood, —who, without one 
pang of remorse, had led his dupes, step by step, into crime, 
watching for the time when he would be enabled to hand 
them over to the common hangman and receive his bloody 
reward, — this burly bully, to whom murder was a household 
word, lacked, after all, the smallest portion of brute cour- 
age, in the presence of danger. 

“ I — tell — you,” he said, endeavoring to catch his voice, 
like a man after ascending a steep hill, “ I — tell — you — this 
is some great mistake you are making. Didn’t I come here 
to tell who they war that planned O’Roarke’s murder, and 
isn’t there a reward of five hundred pounds for that same ?* 
Will you bring me before a magistrate, and see if I don’t 
earn it? Aye, I’ll give you twenty necks for the hangman 
before forty-eight hours.” 

“‘A Mvd in the hand is worth two in the bush,’ Mr. 
Malone^” replied Sergeant Murphy. “They say you were 
at the head and tail of the job yourself.” 

“ All the better,” answered the ruffian, “ when I’m ready 
to turn informer. Do you mean to tell me I won’t be taken ?* 

“ I think not.” 

“ And why so, may I ask you ?” 

“ Because we have one already,” replied the sergeant. 

“An informer,” yelled Maloney. — “In the devil’s name, 
who is he ?” 

“Well, I don’t care to tell you, as you’ll meet him in a 
few hours. Do you know one Barney Casey ?” 

“ The boccagh ?” exclaimed Maloney. 

“ Fye, Mr. Maloney,” said the sergeant, laughing, “ th® 
secretary, you mean.” 

“ Oh, I’m lost,” groaned Maloney. 

■» 4 Come man,” said the sergeant, “ you know now pretty 
well the hold that’s on you, so I advise you say nothing be- 
fore us that you would care to have told over again.” 

“ But sergeant, dear, I intended all along to turn informer.” 

“You are a day late.” 

“ But I had an understanding with Sub-Inspector Parker, 
rof Nenagh, before I came here, and he promised to hold mo 
harmless.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


273 


“ So it was Parker sent you here,” replied Sergeant Mur- 
phy. 44 Well, he won’t do you much good ; he was dismissed 
the other day, for getting the police under his command to 
put ribbon papers into the pockets of drunken men, and 
then taking them up.” 

“Inspector Parker dismissed ?” said Maloney, u Why, it 
was only last year that the Lord Liftenant gave him a beau- 
tiful sword*.” 

“ Well,” said Dwyer, winking at his comrade, Clarke, 
“like yourself, he botched his last job, and his friends 
turned against him. If they catch him now, they’ll trans- 
port him. Barney Casey was too much for you, after all, 
though you are a Tipperary bird, and 4 an old hand at the 
bellows.’ ” 

44 Where is the boccagh ?” asked Maloney, not heeding the 
taunt. 

44 Indeed, himself and his worthy father are asleep inside 
there,” answered the sergeant. 

44 Old Casey,” exclaimed Maloney, 44 why, — is he going to 
inform too ?” 

44 Faith,” replied Murphy, 44 1 suppose he’d have no objec- 
tion to such work, but one will do ; the reason he is here 
is, that he didn’t think he’d be quite safe at home, when it 
came to be known that Barney turned informer. But I 
must turn in and get some sleep, for the magistrates are to 
meet here early to-day, to examine the secretary. It was 
late yesterday evening, when he gave himself up, and Mr. 
Darcy, before whom I brought him, just made out a short 
list of some of the names he mentioned, and handed it to 
me. Your’s was the first name he gave in, and the last, 
and the middle one ; he never tired of twisting it round his 
tongue. He’s mighty fond of you, all out, Mr. Maloney.” 

44 But it’s not too late yet,” said Maloney. 

“ What’s not too late ?” asked the sergeant. 

44 This Casey is not taken as an informer as yet,” he an- 
swered. 44 They’ll have to write to the government first. 
I knew all about it. Oh, sergeant, dear, speak a good word 
for me with the gentlemen, and they’ll take me instead of 
Casey. I’ll be worth two of the fellow at the green table.” 


* A fact. 


274 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Not in Galway,” replied Sergeant Murphy. “ There’s 
not much respect for your trade here ; and although I have 
a policeman’s coat on me, I’d have you to know I am not 
much like your friend Parker. If what is told of you is 
true, and if it was you set all this disturbance on foot in 
the country, I’d hang you with my own hands, if no one 
else could be got to do the job. Here, Dwyer, lock him 
up in the black hole.” 

“ Won’t I be brought before the magistrates when they 
come ?” asked Maloney. 

“ It’s not likely that I’ll forget to tell them you are here,” 
answered the sergeant. “ But you needn’t think they’ll take 
you as an informer, for Mr. Darcy told me he’d have you 
hanged, if it cost him five hundred pounds.” 

After receiving this comfortable assurance, Mr. Maloney 
was conducted out of the room and down a narrow passage, 
at the end of which was a low door, studded with nails. 
The policeman opened the door, 

“ Get in there,” he said, “ you’ll find a stretcher at the 
other end.” 

So saying, he shoved him in and locked the* door, thus 
leaving Maloney, “ a friend to the government,” in a dark 
cell, with a darker fear thumping at his heart. 

About ten o’clock, on the same day, several magistrates, 
amongst whom was Godfrey Daly, met in a large room at 
the police barrack, used once a month as a Petty Sessions 
Court, Mr. Darcy, the gentleman before whom the cripple 
had been brought the previous evening, having written to 
them requesting their presence. Shortly after they had 
assembled, he briefly stated the substance of the informa- 
tion he had received from the cripple. 

“We will now, gentlemen,” he concluded, “have this 
person brought before us. Policemen, bring him in.” 

As Barney Casey entered the room, he shot a furtive, en- 
quiring loojs: at those present, and then cast his eyes upcn 
the ground, whilst a burning blush of shame overspread his 
sickly features. The truth was, the poor wretch’s nature 
was peculiarly sensitive ; it was Maloney’s brutal and con- 
temptuous treatment of him, that first gave him the idea of 
becoming an informer, for thus only could he be revenged 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


275 


on the strong bully; but now, as he stood in the presence 
of his superiors, he felt keenly, in his warped soul, the great 
gulf that was between him and them. 

Like all his class, he had tne most exalted idea of the 
position and honor of such men ; and he now thought how 
they must despise and loathe the vile informer standing be- 
fore them. 

“ Casey,” said Mr. Darcy, who acted as chairman, “ you 
came before me on yesterday evening, and made a volun- 
tary statement relative to the murder of Mr. O’Koarke. 
Are you prepared to repeat that statement now, in the 
presence of these gentlemen.” 

“I am, sir,” replied the cripple, without raising his eyes. 

“I caution you,” continued the magistrate, “ that what you 
shall now say, will be taken down, and may be used against 
you, if the government refuses to accept of you as an infor- 
mer.” 

Barney gave a bitter smile, as he answered, “ I’m not afraid 
of that, your honor. What would they hang me for, I’nynot 
worth it?” 

“This person,” said Mr. Darcy, addressing his brother 
magistrates, “ was brought, as I have mentioned to you 
already, before me, yesterday evening, by Sergeant Mur- 
phy ; as he wished to give information relative to the hor- 
rid murder that has occurred in our midst. Before I al- 
lowed him to do so, I cautioned him, as I do now. The 
statement which he then made I committed to writing ; I 
now produce it. There is a good deal of irrelevant matter 
in it, and I think it will expedite this investigation much, if 
you allow me to question Casey, referring, of course, to the 
document before me. We can have his depositions after- 
wards, fully drawn out.” 

“I can see no objection,” said Mr. Daly, “ to the course 
you propose.” 

The other magistrates expressed similar opinions, and 
when the chairman had glanced over the paper he held in 
his hand, he said, addressing the cripple, “your name is 
Bernard Casey ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Where do you live ?” 


276 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I live with my grandfather, sir, at Tubberbeg.” 

“ Your grandfather keejjs a shebeen ?” * 

“ He did, sir,” answered Barney. “ He couldn’t help it, 
gentlemen, he was too old to work, and, God help me ! I 
was not able to do anything for him, and so he had to do 
this for a living.” 

“ You stated that people were in the habit of meeting at 
night, at your grandfather’s.” 

“The boys ever and always resorted there, sir, to play 
cards, or the like; but when Maloney came to this part of 
the country, they began to have regular nights for meeting.* 

“ Who is Maloney ?” asked one of the magistrates. 

“ You shall hear presently,” answered Mr. Darcy, “ in the 
meantime, gentlemen, I have to tell you, that this person 
is now in custody ; he came here this morning for the pur- 
pose of offering himself as an informer, I have no doubt but 
that it is his trade, and was arrested by Sergeant Murphy. 
Now, Casey, tell us what you know of this Maloney, and 
what took place at your grandfather’s, from the time ho 
commenced to go there.” 

“ About six months ago,” answered the cripple, “ Malo- 
ney first came to our house, with one or two others ; he was 
a stranger in the country, and no one knew well where he 
come from, not even them he came with; he said himself 
he was from Tipperary. From this out, he was at our house 
almost every night, for a month, and the house would be 
crowded with people when he was there ; for he had a 
great deal to say about what he saw, and what happened 
to him on his travels. One night, he was silent all out, 
and they asked him what ailed him. i By dad,’ said he 
‘I’m puzzled. I like ye’s all very well, and would wish to 
serve ye, but you see I’m a stranger, and how do I know if 
I can trust you. I’ll venture anyhow.’ He then told them 
that there was to be a great rising soon, to free the country. 
That the first gentlemen in Ireland were at the head of it, 
and had their sittings in Dublin, and lodges scattered over 
the country; that he was a member and was sent amongst 
them to find out if they were spirited people, in this part 
of the country, likely to join; that, at the present time, he 


* A low, unlicensed public house. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


277 


could not tell the names of them that sent him, hut, if the 
boys liked, he would swear them in, as members, and give 
the passwords of the society. All that were listening to 
him were more or less hearty,* and that night he sworo 
them in as members, and gave them the passwords. At 
first my grandfather and myself refused to be sworn, but 
Maloney said we w^ould not be asked to do anything ; and, 
says he to the others, ‘ your lives are in their hands , 7 and 
they should be made members of. In a minute, sure, wo 
were forced upon our knees, and made to take the oath ; 
and a dreadful oath it was. From this night out, they met 
regular, at our house, once a week, and some times oftener, 
but Wednesday was the regular night of meeting. Malo- 
ney told them that what they had to do for the present, 
was to take arms from them they knew would not bo 
friendly to the cause, and to make as many members as 
they could. When he found out that I had a little learn- 
ing, he said I should act as secretary, and keep a list of 
the members’ names ; but not a fourth of them he made 
me write down, ever came next or nigh my grandfather’s.” 
“ Have you that list ?” 

“ No, sir, I burned it after Mr. O’Boarke was shot, for I 
was afraid the police would search the house.” (The truth 
was, Barney had destroyed this list, because J ames Dela- 
ny’s name was on it.) 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Darcy, “ I think, for the 
present, we have heard enough of the birth and parentage 
of this illegal society; so we will, if you please, come to 
that part of the evidence which bears directly on the sub- 
ject of this investigation. “You remember, Casey, the 
fifth of October last?” 

“Yes, your honor.” 

“Did any persons meet at your grandfather’s on the night 
of the fifth ?” 

“Yes, sir, Maloney, and some others.” 

“ How many in all ?” 

Barney hesitated a moment, and then replied, “thero 
were seventeen in all, sir.” 

“Now tell us what took place on that night.” 


American, tight. 


278 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“That night,” said Barney, “Maloney proposed to shoot Mr. 
O’Roarke, and Bryan Lorkin was chosen to do it.” 

“There was a regular lodge meeting, I suppose, that 
night,” said Mr. Darcy. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And Maloney proposed, you say, that they should shoot 
Mr. O’Roarke ?” 

“Yes, sir, it was from him it came.” 

“ How did they decide on the person that was to shoot 
him ?” 

“ They drew lots, sir.” 

“ And the lot fell on Bryan Lorkin ?” 

“ No, sir, it fell on another, but he refused to do it, and 
Lorkin took his place.” 

“Was there any certain time fixed upon that night, for 
shooting Mr. O’Roarke?” 

“No, sir, Maloney told them to be on the lookout and hear 
what fairs, or the like, he would be going to,” 

“Now will you give us the names of those who were pres- 
ent, on that night ?” 

Barney mentioned sixteen names, including Maloney’s 
and Bryan Lorkin’s. 

Mr. Darcy wrote down each name, as it was mentioned. 

“ How is this ?” said the latter, “ you have stated that there 
were seventeen persons present, and I have here but six- 
teen names.” 

“ I told the truth, sir, but there was one there whose name 
I did not wish to mention.” 

“You had better take care, sir,” replied Mr. Darcy. “ I 
warn you, that your only chance of mercy for yourself, is 
not to conceal anything.” 

“ I don’t care,” replied the cripple. “ If you were to bring 
me out this moment to hang me before the door, there was 
one there I’ll never betray ;” and for the first time he looked 
in the face of his examiners. 

“ Do you expect” asked one of them, “ that the government 
will pay you the reward which they have offered, for this half 
confidence ?” 

“ What I’m after doing,” replied Barney, “ I did more for 
the sake of having revenge on the villain that never passed 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


279 


me without a jibe or a blow, than for the reward. There 
was but one there, that ever spoke kindly to me, or felt 
for me. Love, gentlemen, is as strong as hate. Besides,” 
he added, “ he quarrelled with Maloney, when the villain 
proposed to have O’Roarke shot, and if his advice was tak- 
en he never would be shot.” 

“ If that is the case, no harm is likely to come to him.” 

“ I don’t know that, sir, he was there anyhow, and I don’t 
know how it would be turned against him. You have 
enough without him,” he continued, “ I took an oath, because 
I was forced to do it, and I broke it. I took another of my 
own accord, which I’ll keep.” 

“ What was that ?” asked Godfrey Daly. 

“To hang,” replied the cripple, “ sooner than betray him 
that never met me without giving a kind word and a friendly 
smile. Gentlemen,” he continued, with a flushed cheek, and 
sparkling eye, “ all your lives, you are accustomed to see 
yourselves respected ; as you go along the road, the people 
take off their hats to jmu, and when you go home, there 
are those who love you. The likes of you can never know 
the strong hold that a kind word will take upon the heart 
of such as I am.” 

There was a pause, as the magistrates looked with puz- 
zled faces at one another. Not one of them but felt that it 
would be beneath him to press the cripple any farther ; 
and Godfrey Daly actually smiled upon him. Neither to 
himself, or to the others, did he appear half so vile, as he 
did on entering the room an hour before. 

“ Perhaps,” said Mr. Daly, “it would be as well that the 
witness should withdraw for a short time.” 

“ I think so,” replied Mr. Darcy. “ Sergeant bring him to 
another room. When we require his presence, we will call 
you.” 

When Barney had retired with the sergeant, the gentle- 
men, with one accord, turned to Mr. Daly. 

“ By my honor,” said the latter, “ I believe the greatest 
scoundrel that lives has a jewel hid somewhere about him, 
if one could find the way to it.” 

“ But, Daly, what do you propose ?” asked Mr. Darcy. 

“ Oh, leave the poor wretch his jewel, by all means. He 


280 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


has given you a list, that would satisfy the appetite of a 
Judge Norbury ; besides, we have the arch fiend, the con- 
coctor of the murder, now in custody. It would, I think, be 
injudicious to frighten or bully the person on whose evi- 
dence we hope to bring him to justice.” 

“ That is true enough,” said an old gentleman, who had not 
before spoken. “ By the Lord Harry, I’ll hire a chaise to 
go see this fellow, Maloney, hanged ; d — n me if I don’t.” 

“ Why,” said Mr. Daly smiling, I thought my old friend, 
Billy Warburton, never cared to witness the death of any- 
thing, but a fox.” 

“ But I feel convinced, Daly, thlit this fellow came to the 
country for no other purpose, than to get our throats cut. 
I’ll hire a chaise to go and see him hanged, d — n me if I 
don’t” 

“ Yet,” said Mr. Daly, “ we must have other proof, besides 
the evidence of an informer, to convict this man. Do you 
know, Darcy, if the prisoner was searched ?” 

“I do not. But we can ask the sergeant.” 

Sergeant Murphy was then recalled. 

“Has the prisoner been searched?” asked Mr. Daly. 

‘•No, sir.” 

“ It should have been done.” 

“ The handcuffs were never removed since I took him into 
custody,” replied Sergeant Murphy. “ So whatever was on 
his person then, is there still.” 

He then retired, and in a few minutes returned with some 
papers which he had found in Maloney’s pockets. 

Mr. Darcy looked over them. “This is most fortunate,” he 
exclaimed, “ Here are a number of passwords, signs, and reg- 
ulations for Lodge No. 31 ; drawn up and signed by Mr. Malo- 
ney, at least, his name is to them. They are unmeaning 
gibb'erish, as is always the case — merely intended to de- 
ceive, by a show of mystery, but nevertheless very good 
evidence against this fellow.” 

“ Very good,” said Mr. Daly, “ now let us have Casey in 
again; it strikes me he may give us some clue to further ev- 
idence.” 

“ I have not seen you, Daly, for many a day, take such 
an active part in any of our magisterial proceedings,” said 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


281 


Mr. Darcy. “ I assure you we have often wished for the as- 
sistance of your clear head.” 

“ I would hang this ruffian with my own hand,” replied 
Godfrey Daly. 

“ You can have a seat in the chaise, Daly,” said old Mr. 
Warburton, in such a matter-of-fact tone, that all present 
laughed. 

When the cripple again made his appearance, Mr. Daly 
addressed him : 

u We are inclined,” he said, “to give credence to what 
you have told us ; so much so, that I have no doubt but that 
on our own representation, the government will accept you 
as a crown witness. But your evidence alone would be in- 
sufficient to convict any of those persons. Now, as to Malo- 
ney, — do you know of any circumstance, or any way, by 
which we could procure other evidence against him ?” 

“ I do, sir,” replied Barney, without hesitation. “ Wasn’t 
the gun that shot Mr. O’Boarke, found lying by him ?” 

“ Yes,” answered Mr. Daly?” 

“ I have it in my possession,” said Sergeant Murphy. “ The 
stock is smashed off the barrel.” 

“ That gun was Maloney’s,” said Barney. 

“ Can you give us any proof of this, besides your own 
word ?” asked Mr. Daly. 

“ I can, sir. Isn’t there an iron band round the stock ?” 

“ There is,” replied the sergeant. 

“Cassidy, the smith, at Mr. Daly’s cross-roads, put that 
on for Maloney ; he’ll know his own work,” said Barney. 

“ Let one of your men, sergeant, take my horse and go 
for this man,” said Mr. Darcy. “ Let the policeman not re- 
turn without him.” 

“ If your honor pleases,” said the cripple, “ he may as 
well bring Luke Murphy, the carpenter, along too. He lives 
a little beyant Cassidy’s.” 

“ Of course,” replied Mr. Darcy. “ What can he prove ?” 

“ It was he made that stock for Maloney,” 

“By heavens, Daly, we have the rascal,” exclaimed Mr. 
Darcy. 

“ I think so,” replied Mr. Daly. “ Would to God, every 
*coundrel like him, in Ireland, was as well secured. G o, 


282 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWtf. 


sergeant, and send for those men at once. Casey can with- 
draw for some time. Leave him in charge of a policeman ; 
he is to hold no communication with his grandfather or any 
other person, until his depositions are drawn up and sworn 
to. You can return here yourself.” 

In two hours after, the policeman, who had been sent for 
the carpenter and smith, returned, bringing the two men 
with him. They seemed somewhat frightened, when brought 
into the presence of the magistrates ; but Mr. Daly re-assured 
them by saying : 

“We have sent for you, for the purpose of asking you a 
few questions, to which, I am sure, you will give truthful 
answers. I know both these men to be honest, well-be- 
haved persons.” 

“ Long life to you, Mr. Daly,” said Cassidy, “ you were 
never backward in speaking a good word, for a poor per- 
son.” 

The broken gun was now produced, and Murphy was ask- 
ed, had he seen it before. 

“ It was myself that made this stock, your honors,” he re- 
plied. 

“ Who djd you make it for ?” 

“For a man of the name of John Maloney; this is the 
barrel he gave me to fit it into.” 

“ Very well. Now, Cassidy, take that stock.” 

The man did so. “ Yes,” he said looking at it, “It was I 
put on this band.” 

“ For whom ?” 

“For John Maloney, sir, the stock was cracked ; he told 
me, at the time, that he fell off a wall and cracked it.” 

“ Do either of you know anything of this man, more than 
his name, or do you know where he has come from?” 

Both men answered these questions in the negative. 

“ That will do,” said Mr. Darcy, “ you may retire, but re- 
main below, as we will want you presently. Now, gentle- 
men,” he continued, when the witnesses had withdrawn. 
“ I think we will have Maloney brought before us for tho 
purpose of having him identified.” 

Soon after, Maloney, handcuffed and guarded by two po- 
licemen, was ushered in. The ruffian had schooled himself 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


283 


to look as calm as his coward nature would allow of; but 
his restless eye and quivering lip showed how assumed his 
calmness was. As he entered the room, he gave a hurried 
glance to that part of it, in which he expected to see the 
cripple, and seemed relieved to find that he was not pres- 
ent. He then looked at the others, but old Mr. Warburton 
was the only one of them he could look at steadily for a 
moment. The moment he encountered the clear, stern, 
look of Godfrey Daly, his eyes dropped, while his face, if 
possible, grew a shade more pallid. 

“ What is your name ?” asked Mr. Daly. 

“ John Maloney, your honor,” he replied, not directing his 
eyes to him who asked the question, but to Mr. Warbur- 
ton’s face. There is no doubt but that wild beasts and 
madmen fear the human eye, (I once stared a bear out of 
countenance, — what an ill-bred fellow he must have thought 
me !) but not half so much as a villain does ; therefore,, 
when Maloney spoke, he invariably directed his gaze to- 
where Mr. Warburton sat ; not indeed but that the old gen- 
tleman’s eyes were fixed upon him with a very fierce ex- 
pression, or that he had not, more than once, very audibly 
expressed his intention to “ hire the chaise,” but the old 
gentleman had, with the assistance of several butts of clar- 
et, innumerable bottles of port, and divers adjuncts, raised 
a respectable and numerous family of carbuncles and grog- 
blossoms in the neighborhood of his nose, which almost 
completely intercepted all view of his eyes ; indeed, a per- 
son of nervous temperament could not long look at Billy 
Wharburton’s nose without experiencing an uneasy idea 
that it was about to explode. A botanist can tell the age 
of a tree by its rings ; a geologist, the geological period cfi 
a rock, by the strata in which it is found, — I wonder, could 
any of those gentlemen have told the age of Billy’s nose, by 
the strata of pimples under which it lay. 

“ Have you been informed,” said Mr. Darcy, again ad- 
dressing Maloney, “ of the nature of the charges against 
you ?” 

“I was told nothing, your honor,” he replied; “I came 
here last night of my own free will and accord, and the first 


18 


234 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWtf. 


thing the sergeant did was to put these handcuffs upon me.” 

“ What was your object in coming here ?” 

“ I r d as live tell your honors in private,” said Maloney, 
glancing at the police. 

Mr. Darcy was about to direct the latter to withdraw when 
Godfrey Daly whispered to him. 

“ You are quite right, Daly,” said the former gentleman. 
“ It is right to tell you,” said Mr. Daly — addressing Malo- 
ney — u that anything you now say will be taken down and 
used against you, if necessary, in another place. You are 
charged, with others, in conspiring to murder the late Mr. 
Philip O’Roarke. We have evidence which goes to show 
that you were the suggester and prime mover of that busi- 
ness. We are at no loss to know your object in coming 
here this morning, at the hour you did ; but it is useless for 
you to suppose that any disclosures you may now make 
will do aught but criminate yourself. I tell you, you shall 
not have an opportunity of giving evidence against your 
dupes, and thereby escaping yourself; therefore, anything 
you have to say, I advise you to keep for your defence. By 
no possibility can it avail you here. You have played your 
bloody game and lost it.” 

As Maloney listened to these stern words, the self-posses- 
sion he had endeavored to assume entirely forsook him. 
He threw himself upon his knees, and, in the most abject 
manner, whined for mercy — that he w r as a stranger, and that 
there was a conspiracy against him.” 

u And what the devil brought you to this country ?” ex- 
claimed old Warburton. “ Eh, answer that, if you can.” 

“ You forget, my friend,” said Mr. Daly, aside ; “that I 
have just cautioned him against saying anything, unless at 
his peril.” 

But Maloney did not appear to have heard the question ; 
he still remained on his knees, craving mercy, and offering 
to reveal all if they would promise it to him. But his rav- 
ings were unheeded. The softest heart there was Godfrey 
Daly’s. One that, in very tenderness, could vie with the 
most gentle ; and yet it was as adamant to the appeal of 
the kneeling villian. His proud lip curled with disdain, as 
he remarked to Mr. Darcy, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


285 


u What a coward, and jet a murderer by profession. 
Policeman, bring in Bernard Casey.” 

At the sound of this name Maloney jumped up from his 
knees, whilst his eyes dilated, and his teeth closed with a 
chattering sound, and when the cripple entered he scowled 
upon him from under his heavy, knitted eyebrows. But 
Barney avoided not his look. On the contrary, he seemed 
to court it, and when their eyes met the cripple smiled. The 
expression was the §ame as that with which old Casey had 
disconcerted Maloney, on' the night we first met with them 
in the cabin of the former. 

Maloney was the first to withdraw his gaze. “ It’s the 
same,” he muttered; “ the very same, oh! what came over 
me at all, not to be warned by it.” 

“Casey,” said Mr. Darcy, “do you know this man ?” 

Barney — the smile still parting his thin lips — limped 
over to where Maloney stood. Casting his eyes down to 
the feet of the prisoner, he raised them slowly up, inch by 
inch, somewhat like the way a gourmand might look along 
the ribs of a stall-fed ox. 

“It is John Maloney, sir,” he replied. “The last time I 
saw you, Mr. Maloney, there were no handcuffs on you, as 
this cut on my head will prove.” 

“Oh, you Judas!” growled Maloney, 

“ Judas back to you,” replied the cripple, striking the 
stick which he used to assist him in walking, sharply upon 
the ground, “Judas, back to you, again. What brought 
you here, last night ?” 

“ Silence” said Mr. Darcy. “ Policeman keep order.” The 
man addressed made Barney return to where he had been. 

“ Is this the man,” said Mr. Darcy, addressing the cripple, 
“ whom you have mentioned, as proposing the murder of 
the late Mr. O’Boarke ?” 

“ The same, your honor.” , 

“ That will do. Policemen, remove the witness.” 

The broken gun was now produced, and after being cau- 
tioned, in the- usual way, Maloney was asked if he recog- 
nized it. He denied all knowledge of it. Cassidy and Mur- 
phy were then produced. They repeated their former state- 
ments, this time identifying Malopey, as the man from whom 
they received the gun. 


286 


THE DALYS OF DALY STOWS". 


As the latter listened to this fresh evidence against him, a 
stupor seemed to seize upon his senses — no doubt, the para- 
lysis of fear — his head dropped upon his chest, and when 
the police were ordered to witdraw him, one of them had 
to shake him by the arm, to engage his attention. When 
he felt the man’s touch he started and looked about him, 
like one suddenly awakened ; then he made a step forward, 
to where the magistrate sat, whilst big drops burst upon his 
forehead, which he endeavored to wipe off with his mana- 
cled hands. 

“My God ! gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “what are you going 
to do with me ?” 

“You will be committed to Galway jail, to abide your 
trial,” answered the chairman. 

“ Won’t you hear what I have to say ?” 

“Not unless to use it against you at your trial, if it is 
any confession you wish to make, — if it is anything in your 
defence, reserve it until then.” 

“By Him that made me,” exclaimed Maloney, “it was 
Inspector Parker, of Nenagh, that advised me to come to 
Connaught, and told me that the government would be glad 
to get any information I could make out for them ; and that 
I would be held harmless.” 

“ Ha !” exclaimed Godfrey Daly. “ Can this be true ?” 

“ It matters little whether it is or not,” said another mag- 
istrate, (a Mr. L'Estrange, a great upholder of the purity 
of government, having got some crumbs from the Castle 
table, for two of his sons,) “f or this Parker was dismissed 
some time ago, by the government, for most infamous con- 
duct.” 

“ Yes — yes, I remember,” replied Mr. Daly, “but, can you 
tell me, sir, why this Parker was not indicted, as well as 
dismissed ?” 

“ He has fled,” answered the gentleman. 

“ But why was he not indicted in the first instance, instead 
of being merely notified that he was dismissed?” 

“I can’t tell you; I don’t know,” replied Mr. L’Estrange. 

“ Nor I,” said Mr. Daly. 

“ Some of the police have been arrested, and are to be 
prosecuted.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


287 


“ Ah, yes,” answered Mr. Daly. “ The blind, working tool 
is always sacrificed, when he makes a mistake.” 

“I do not understand you,” said L’Estrange. 

“ How should you ?” answered the other, “you who believe 
in the purity of a paternal government. Is not that the 
proper expression, Mr. L’Estrange ?” As for me, I believe in 
‘ put not your trust in Princes.’ ” 

Mr. L’Estrange’s face flushed, but he remained silent ; he 
cared not, even in defence of his paternal government, to 
risk a quarrel with Godfrey Daly. 

“ We had better, I think,” said Mr. Darcy, “ have the pris- 
oner removed. You, Cassidy and Murphy, will remain below 
stairs, until your depositions are drawn up.” 

Maloney was then taken from the room ; the witnesses 
and police retired, and the magistrates were left alone. 

Godfrey Daly had been lying back in his chair for the 
last few minutes ; his eyes closed, and the color, that excite- 
ment had given to his face, passed away. As he thus reclined, 
one could remark that he had altered much, even within a 
few weeks. Mr. L’Estrange, who had been looking at him, 
was shocked by the almost ghastly expression of his face, 
and being a good-hearted man, he said, 

“ Have you been ill of late, Mr. Daly ? I don’t think you 
look so well, that is quite so well, as when I last had the 
pleasure of seeing you. I hope you are not complaining ?” 

Godfrey Daly raised himself, as he answered. 

“ Thank you, Mr. L’Estrange, for your kind enquiry, I am 

not ill, that I know of, and yet” . He paused, and then 

added : “ I am getting old, sir, and somehow have failed to 
provide myself with the drag that such jovial fellows as my 
friend Warburton, here, can put upon the wheel as it goes 
down hill. This business we have just been engaged in has 
worried and exhausted me. I fear too,” he added, with a 
sweet smile, “it has made me cross and irritable ; if so, and 
if 1 have said anything to annoy you, you will forgive me, 
and be generous enough to attribute it to the infirmities of 
an old man.” 

As he spoke, he rose from his chair, and extended his 
hand to Mr. L’Estrange, which the latter warmly shook. 

“ So, Parker has escaped,” said old Mr. Warburton. “Egad, 
I’m sorry for it. I’d like to hire a chaise to see him hanged.” 


288 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Why Billy,” exclaimed Mr. Daly, laughing, “you are 
getting quite blood-thirsty. Ah, my old friend, were all the 
villains that prowl and feed upon this little island of ours 
to get their deserts, and your newly-acquired taste to con- 
tinue; your whole property would go in carriage hire. 
Have we not concluded, Darcy ?” 

“Yes; nothing remains but to draw up the depositions, 
and have them sworn to by the witnesses. I will write to the 
law adviser of the crown, to know if Casey will be admit- 
ted as a crown witness ; it is only a mere matter of form.” 

“ What will I do with old Casey, your worship, and the 
old woman, who came in about half an hour ago, being afraid 
to stop in the house alone ?” said Sergeant Murphy, entering 
the room. 

“ Pack the whole family off to T ,” answered Mr. Darcy. 

I’ll give you a note to the Sub-Inspector. One of your men 
writes a good hand, does he not?” 

“ Yes, sir” 

“ Send him here, he must act as our clerk.” 

The depositions of the witnesses were drawn up and sworn 
to, and shortly afterwards the magistrates separated. 

That evening, Barney and his venerable relatives put up 

at very comfortable quarters, in the town of T , and the 

next morning, long before daylight, Maloney was on his way 
to the county jail, fully committed on the charge of murder. 
Warrants were also issued against all the persons whom 
Barney had mentioned, as being at his grandfather’s, on the 
night that O’Koarke’s murder was planned. 

As Sergeant Murphy had judged, the cripple had scarce- 
ly given himself up to th,e police, when the news spread 
through the country, causing the utmost consternation among 
the members of the ribbon lodge. Indeed, Maloney must, 
necessarily, have heard it, previous to his visit to the police 
barrack, had he not, for obvious reasons, withdrawn him- 
self altogether from his usual haunts. Amongst others, 
James Delany had early information of the fact. He had 
bitterly repented of having been led to join the illegal so- 
ciety, when Maloney’s designs and character became par- 
tially revealed to him. As he had truly said, on the night 
that O’Roarke’s murder was first proposed, he joined, sup- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


289 


posing that there was going to he a general rebellion in 
the country; or, as he expressed it, “a fair stand up fight.” 
But when he saw this grand delusion (always a cherished 
love in the heart of an Irish peasant,) dwindle into mid- 
night assassination, his nature revolted from such acts, and 
from that night out, neither threats or persuasion could 
induce him to enter the ribbon lodge, or take part in its 
proceedings. Nay, more, he would have warned O’Roarke, 
of his danger, did he know how to do so without incurring 
the risk of being branded as an informer ; and, be it remem- 
bered, that there is no name under heaven an Irish peasant 
dreads so much to incur, or holds in such abhorence ; yet, 
his conscience made him wretched. At length he hit upon 
a plan. “ I will tell the priest about it,” he thought, “ I 
can trust him, and he will warn O’Roarke.” 

But this good resolve came too late ; for the very day it 
was formed, O’Roarke was murdered. Delany had not re- 
covered from the shock which this event gave to him, when 
he heard of the cripple’s treachery, and never, through a 
long lifetime, did the horrors of the night on which he heard 
it, pass from his mind. Did a door or window shake, it was 
armed men entering to drag him to jail. A withered leaf, 
driven by the night wind against the window, was a friend- 
ly hand tapping, to warn him of his danger. Once the 
thought crossed his mind, that Barney might not betray 
him ; but he quickly rejected it. When was an informer 
known to keep faith with one more than another, and the 
cripple was with them that would soon pick it out of him.” 
At length he resolved upon flight, and arose from the bed 
he had been restlessly tossing on for hours. 

“ It will break the old people’s hearts,” he murmured, 
as he groped in the dark for his clothes ; but it would kill 
them all out on the spot, to see me dragged before their 
eyes to jail, (he was an only child). May God forgive 
me,” he continued. “ I’ll call on Luke Murphy, as I pass, 
and send him here to break it to them. May God look 
down on them this dark day. Oh ! father, dear, is this the 
way all your good advice is gone astray? Oh! mother, 
dear, after all your love, have I brought sorrow to your 
fond heart, and shame to your gray hairs ?” 


290 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


It was now the gray of the morning, and taking his shoes 
in his hand, he stole softly into the room in which his father 
and mother slept ; as he bent over them, his stifled sobs 
awakened the old man. 

“ Who’s there ?” he asked. 

“ It’s I, father,” answered his son, “ I forgot something in 
the room, here.” 

“What makes yon get up so early, James dear?” 

“ I — I have a toothache, father. Hush, don’t waken my 
mother, for God’s sake.” 

But the old woman was already awake. 

“ What’s the matter, alannah machree ?”* she said, “your 
voice is changed. Are you sick, asthore ?” 

“No, mother, no,” he replied. “Go to sleep; it wants a 
good hour of sunrise, yet. There, I have what I was look- 
ing for.” 

Fearing to trust liimse]f a moment longer in the room, he 
hurried out, and, closing the door after him, fell upon his 
knees on the outside. 

“ God be with you, dear father,” he murmured, with 
clasped hands, as one in prayer ; “ God be with you, loving 
mother ! — God be with you ! — God be with you ! Oh ! 
Mother of God, comfort them this day.” 

He then returned to his own room and took some money 
from a box; then, waving his hand wildly towards his 
father’s room, he left the house. He crossed the fields rap- 
idly, yet pausing from time to time to look back at his home. 
At such times he would stretch forth his hands towards it 
and then, turning, resume his flight. 

When he had got about two miles from his father’s house 
he slackened his pace. The sun had just risen, and, for the 
first time in his life, James Delany dreaded its blessed light ; 
and yet he paused and looked at it with strange, undefined 
feelings of admiration ; — it appeared so majestically grand, 
so calmly powerful, as it “ walked the heavens,” looking 
down upon him so weak, so forlorn and cast away. Suddenly 
he heard his name called, and, starting, sprang forward to 
resume his flight ; as he did so, he turned his head and saw 
a boy running after him. 


* Child of my heart. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


291 


< “ It’s Mickey Curley,” he said, stopping. “ I must tell 
him not to say anything about meeting me.” 

The boy soon came up with him. “ Faith, James,” he said, 
“ I believe its coorsing a hare you war ; for when you 
stopped you raised your head just as Mr. Doolan’s dogs do 
when they lose her.” 

“What do you want, Mickey ?” asked James. “I can’t 
wait now ; and, Mickey, for your life, don’t tell any one you 
saw me passing this way.” 

“I have a letter for you, James,” answered the boy, 
u that Barney Casey gave me yesterday evening ; he told 
me to bring it to you at once, and to put it into your own 
hands ; but yesterday evening was so wet that I could not 
get over, and I was making an early start this morning 
when — ” 

James Delany did not wait for him to finish what he was 
about to say, but snatched a piece of folded paper from his 
hand and read: “ When all the rest are cursing me, James, 
don’t you join them ; nor don’t be afraid when you hear 
what I done. I will die sooner than let your name cross 
my lips. If I didn’t do it Maloney would. It was his in- 
tention, James, from first to last, and if he had the start of 
me it would be worse for you, and maybe for others. God 
be with you, James.” 

There was no name to the letter. 

James Delany, through very weakness, sat down upon 
the grass and wiped his heated face. His first thought, af- 
ter reading the letter, was of Barney, and not of himself. 

“ Poor, lost creature,” he murmured, “ he has great feel- 
ing, after all ! True enough, it would be a different story 
with me if Maloney was in his place ; and by the blessed 
light, Barney is right. I never saw it before, but it was to 
earn a reward he got up all this disturbance in the country. 
Mickey,” he continued, aloud, “you’re a blessed sight to 
me this morning. Here’s half a crown for you ; come with 
me and I’ll give you a good breakfast ; I know I can trust 
you, Mickey, and that you’ll not tell any one of this letter, 
or who gave it to you.” 

“Put up your money, James,” replied the boy; “I can 
be as true as him that wrote that letter, anyhow, without 
taking money for it.” 


292 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Oh ! you misunderstand me, Mickey, entirely,” answered 
James. “ It was not as a bribe I offered you the money, 
but to reward you for the good news you stopped me with 
this morning, and bekase I can afford to part with it, and 
you want it, my poor boy. Sure I know if you were false, a 
king’s ransom could not make you true. You will come 
home with me anyhow, for I have a little job for you, 
Mickey,” he added, as he jumped up from the ground with 
sudden, wild energy, “you’re the finest boy that ever flew. 
I’m going back to the old father and mother I thought I’d 
never lay my eyes on again.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

It is time I should speak of Tim O’Roarke. The bodies 
of his father and Lorkin, were found by some persons, re- 
turning late from the race course, and a messenger was dis- 
patched on horseback to the town of T , for Tim ; but 

before he reached home, the police had arrived at the scene 
of the murder, and refused to allow O’Roarke’s body to 
be removed, until the arrival of the coroner. So the son 
remained all night, together with some friends, who had 

accompanied him from T , by the side of his dead 

father. Tim, with all his silliness, was not devoid of natu- 
ral feeling, and had loved his father ; perhaps he was the 
only one on earth who respected him. It was but natural 
that the stronger nature of the deceased should have im- 
pressed itself upon the mind of his weak son, and that cus- 
tom and want of thought should have made the latter blind 
to his father’s unmerciful and unjust acts. To Tim, he had 
been a kind and indulgent parent enough ; and it was im- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


293 


possible to witness the unaffected grief of the young man, 
as he kept his sad watch, without feeling compassion for 
him, and thinking better of him. The following morning 
the coroner arrived, and a jury being sworn, their verdict 
recorded : “ That the deceased, Philip O’Roarke, was mur- 

dered by Bryan Lorkin, also deceased ; and that the said 
Bryan Lorkin had come by his death from a wound, sup- 
posed to have been inflicted on him, by the said Philip 
O’Boarke, in justifiable defense of his life.” After which, 
O’Roarke’s body was removed to his house, whilst that of 
the unfortunate Lorkin was given up to the police. 

Those who had accompanied Tim from the town of T , 

remained at Lake View until after the funeral, which took 
place on the second morning after his death, before day- 
light, as it was justly feared that the body of the murdered 
man could not be conveyed to the churchyard at a later 
hour, without being insulted. The funeral over, Tim re- 
turned alone to Lake Yiew. Up to this, horror and grief 
had so stupefied him, that he had not thought of himself, or 
the great change his father’s death would make in his cir- 
cumstances. It was not until he entered the house, on his 
return, that he became fully alive to the fact, that he was 
now master there, and owner of many a broad acre besides ; 
then, visions of fat oxen, sheep, and bright gold coin, float- 
ed before his imagination, and the day had not waned into 
night, before horses, tilburys, high drags, tandems, &c., &c., 
came, like Queen Mab’s chariot, galloping across his heat- 
ed brain 

It must not be supposed that these” thoughts entirely en- 
grossed his mind to the exclusion of all others ; or that he 
had ceased to mourn for his father, ere yet the clay had set- 
tled on his bloody grave ; on the contrary, as night fell, and 
he sat alone, in the dreary, ill-lighted parlor, his father’s 
form, sitting in his accustomed place, seemed almost palpa- 
bly before him, and the young man, leaning his head upon the 
table, gave way to tears. Now, too, that he wa$ alone, the 
recollection of his father’s fate, — as he had seen him, with 
swollen and distorted .features, stretched in his bloody 
clothes, his arms extended, and one hand dipped in the 
bloody pool which had flowed from his murderer’s side (a 


294 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


sight that filled some of those present with a superstitious 
horror, believing that heaven, itself, had thus made the 
murdered man bear evidence, in death, that the blood of 
the wretched Lorkin would cleave unto him) ; these things 
I say, now that he was alone, filled him with a creeping hor- 
ror, accompanied with intense fear for himself. He thought 
how soon the same fate might be his. “ Why should they 
not murder one as well as the other, and who could guard 
himself against a midnight assassin ? He never again 
should have an easy moment, in the accursed place.” 

In truth, there was no danger of Tim, for there is a great 
difference between being hated, and despised ; but he saw 
nothing of this now ; and during the rest of that, to him, 
wretched night, fear took entire possession of him, to the 
exclusion of all other thoughts. He now regretted not hav- 
ing kept at least one of those who had remained with him, 
for the two nights past. During the long hours of the night, 
he remained awake, but, towards morning, worn out and 
exhausted, (for he had not slept since his father’s death,) he 
fell asleep, and did not awake for some hours. When he 
did so, the sun was shining brightly into his room, in cheer- 
ful contrast with the darkness of the night before. 

“ The morn is up again ; the dewy morn, 

With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, 

Laughing the clouds away, with playful scorn, 

And living, as if earth contained no tomb.” 

But, though Tim did not look upon the morning with a 
poet’s eye, its light was, nevertheless, very pleasing to him ; 
it quieted his nerves, enabling him to see that if there was 
danger in stopping at Lake View, there was no necessity 
that he should do so ; — that he was his own master, and 
could go where he pleased. Then there came again, helter, 
skelter, through his silly brain, tilburys, horses, carriages, 
high drags, tandems, &c., &c., mixed up, fin a confused man- 
ner, with broken-hearted damsels, and an elegant young 
man, with auburn hair. 

Tim had written to his uncle, who was at the time in 
Dublin, acquainting him with the death of his father, and 
requesting him to come to Lakeview. The mail to-day 
brought him an answer to this letter, in which Mr. Lyons, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


295 


pathetically lamented the death of his brother-in-law, and 
promised to be a father to Tim. Indeed, so distracted was 
the good man with grief, that on the very day he received 
his nephew’s letter, he opened his day-book, and, in a fit of 
abstraction, wrote, “ Receiving and reading a letter from 
Timothy O’Roarke, Esq., 3s. 4d., answering same, 3s. 4d. 
Six-and-eightpence,” said the grief-stricken man, closing 
the book. “ Poor Phil,” he continued, raising his eyes, as 
he replaced it on the shelf, “ I hope he is in heaven, I must 
be a father to his boy, and manage things for him ; if I don’t, 
some one else will pick him up.” 

And swallow him, Mr. Lyons might have added ; for, al- 
though Cuvier has overlooked all mention of the animal, 
it is a well-known fact, that six-and-eightpenny fathers de- 
vour their offspring. 

Mr. Lyons stated in his letter, something to the effect, 
that nothing but the stern command which duty held over 
him, could debar him of the sad consolation of attending 
the funeral of the deceased: “ But term was going on, and 
he had two records in the list, and knew not the moment 
they might be called on.” 

The fact was, Mr. Lyons felt it to be more profitable to 
attend to living clients (albeit, he was hurrying them to 
their graves with all his might,) then to be burying a dead 
brother-in-law. 

“ If I neglect them,” he soliloquized, as he placed a huge 
black seal upon his letter, u Some one else will be pick- 
ing them up, and there will be plenty to put poor Phil 
down.” But he took especial care to promise to hasten to 
Lake View, the moment business would allow him to do so. 

“ Do nothing, my dear Tim,” he wrote, “until my arrival, 
you are young and inexperienced, and know nothing of the 
villainy of the world. Your poor father often told me to 
look after you, if anything should happen to him, rest his 
soul in glory, and I don’t see,” he artfully added, knowing 
Tim’s weak point, — “ why you need bother your head with 
business, when you have more than enough to allow you to 
live as idle as the best of them. Out of pure respect for 
the memory of poor Phil, your father, and the great regard 
I have for yourself, I will take the burden of business on 
myself, and keep your money square.” 


m 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Mr. Lyons, although belonging to what is waggishly term- 
ed, a peaceful profession, was not deficient in military tac- 
tics so far as being able to change a solid square into a 
hollow one. 

“ I will, with the blessing of God,” he continued, “ be 
with you in ten days. Lock up all your poor father’s pa- 
pers, and what ever money there is the house in his strong 
box, and don’t let any one look at it until I see you. Though 
you feel lonely and desolate, don’t think of deserting the 

place at once. Maybe he’d be thinking of going into T 

to lodge,” thought Lyons, and that d — n Leonard, the attor- 
ney, might come round him and pick him up. “ It would 
ruin you in the eyes of the gentry,” the letter went on to 
say, u and remember, dear nephew, you are now in a posi- 
tion to rank with the best of them, (poor Phil never cared 
for such things ;) so don’t compromise yourself at the start'.” 

Tim read his uncle’s letter with great satisfaction ; it was 
the first recognition of his independence. u He does not 
see,” he thought, “ why I should not live as idle as the best 
of them ; neither do I. Even if I tried to bother my head 
with all the business my poor father attended to, I could 
never get through it. What do I want to make more mon- 
ey for, wdien I have enough? I wish my uncle was come, 
and I’d go up to Dublin ; however, I’ll take his advice, and 
wait for him here. There can’t be much danger in staying 
for a few days.” 

During the ensuing week, many of the gentry in the 
neighborhood, feeling sympathy for one wdio had met such 
a sudden and frightful calamity, called at Lake View ; most 
of those merely left their cards with the young lady, who 
had, on a former interesting occasion, personated Emily 
Daly, and who now wondered “ what the dickens the quali- 
ty meant by taking her from her business, and her hands 
full, to be handing her bits of pasteboard !” 

Amongst others, Godfrey Daly and his soil, called. Tim 
received them with a kind of sulky grief ; he had never lik- 
ed Henry ; perhaps, despite the former’s vanity, he felt his 
inferiority to young Daly, and Henry w r as one of the few 
young men he had met with, whom he had not attempted 
to imitate, at one time or another. But since the day the 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


297 


elder O’Koarke had returned from Dalystown, chafed and 
humiliated, from the contemptuous reception which his 
matrimonial proposal had received, and had visited his rage 
on Tim, the latter actually hated both father and son. 

But Mr. Daly had good sense enough to make allowance 
for Tim’s sulks, so he spoke to him kindly, and when about 
to leave, told him that he would be happy to see him at 
Dalystown. 

Punctual to his promise, Lyons arrived at Lake View 
within the time he had promised. It was a beautiful trait 
of character in this gentleman, that in early life he had 
made a resolution, which he scrupulously adhered to ever 
afterwards — namely : never to break a promise it was his 
interest to keep, and never to keep a promise it was his in- 
terest to break. By the time he arrived, Tim’s grief was near- 
ly worn out, which saved his uncle the trouble of uncork- 
ing the tears he had been brewing in the coach, as he came 
along. 

“If he doesn’t cry,” thought Mr Lyons, “ I don’t see why 
I should.” 

Perhaps it was as well for Tim, that his uncle dispensed 
with this little piece of acting, as otherwise he would, very 
likely, have made a charge for expended feelings. 

The good man had formed many little innocent plans to 
save Tim, from the very commencement, the trouble of look- 
ing after his own business, lest he might acquire a taste for 
doing so ; but, to his great satisfaction, he found that his 
nephew had resolved “ to cut the shop,” as he expressed it, 
and lead, henceforth, the life of an idle gentleman. 

“I will let this place, uncle,” he said, as they sat drinking 
their punch, after dinner, “ and every acre I have ; and go 
live some place where I can enjoy life.” 

“I think you are quite right, my boy,” replied Lyons. 
“ What good did it do poor Phil, your father, — God be 
good to him ?” Here Mr. Lyons gulped down a large quan- 
tity of punch, which being both hot and strong, brought 
the tears to his eyes ; he pulled out his handkerchief and 
said, in a little parenthesis, “I can’t help crying when I 
think of him. But, as I was saying, when my feelings got 
the better of me, what good did it do your poor father to 
3lave himself the way he did, — see, its all after him now.” 


298 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTO WN. 


“ But it wouldn’t,” said Tim, with a low, cunning grin, “ if 
he didn’t work for it.” 

“ By dad, you had me there, Tim,” replied Lyons, return- 
ing the grin, “ and sure you’re all the gainer by it; but he 
had no occasion, this many a day, to slave himself, as he 
did, and you have none at all.” 

“That’s my own opinion exactly, uncle. But how much 
do you think the poor guvner died worth ?” 

“We can’t tell exactly,” replied Lyons, “until we look 
over the books, and get the stock valued, but I believe 
what, between the stock, outstanding mortgages, fee sim- 
ple property and the interest poor Phil had in farms, you’re 
worth every penny of sixty or seventy thousand pounds. 
I suppose you’ll call an auction, as you’re not going to stay 
in the country.” 

“ I’ll sell every four footed beast I have in the world.” 

“And the farms, what will you do with them ?” 

“ Give up those I have not much interest in and let the 
others.” 

“ Upon my conscience, Tim, you’re a cute bird,” said 
Lyons, treating his nephew to another grin and himself to a 
fresh tumbler of punch. 

“ But how long, uncle,” asked Tim, “ do you think it will 
take to arrange all this ?” 

Mr. Lyons considered. He had not the slightest wish that 
Tim should take any part in the arrangement of his aifairs. 

“ Well, let me see,” he said, “ I think, after six months, 
we might be able to — ” 

But Tim interrupted him. “ Six months !” he exclaimed, 
“ and will I have to remain here all that time ?” 

“ There is no occasion in life for you to do so ; give me a 
power of attorney to act for you, and you may go where you 
please. (To the devil, he might have said, with great 
truth.) Aye, and do as you please. Devil a man you’ll 
meet but will be ready to shake thfe hand olf you, and "as for 
the women, all I say is, I hope you’ll have compassion on 
the young ones, and guard against the old ones, that will 
be laying all kinds of traps to catch you for their daugh- 
ters.” 

Tim ran his fingers through his red locks, and looked 
down complacently at his legs. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


299 


tc Bye-the-bye,” continued his uncle, “ what was it that 
came between your father and old Daly, about a month 
ago ? I had a letter from poor Phil telling me to call in 
the money that he had on Daly’s property, and not to spare 
him.” 

“ I believe,” replied Tim, getting somewhat red in the 
face, “ that Daly treated him with great disrespect the last 
time he called at Dalystown. It was about the time he 
wrote to you.” 

“Aye,” said Lyons, “that must be it. Well, my son, 
(how natural that word comes to me,) — it’s from you I am 
now to receive my instructions. What do you wish me to 
do ? He pays heavy interest, Tim.” 

“ I don’t care,” replied Tim ; “ call in the money and if 
he doesn’t pay it, which he won’t nor can’t, proceed against 
him.” 

“ Very well,” answered Lyons, as he rubbed his hands in 
anticipation of long bills of costs ; “ I have a few little mat- 
ters of my own that I will lead off with. But you were say- 
ing that you would not like to remain here while we are 
putting a face on your affairs.” 

“No, not if it will take so long as you say. But there’s 
the auction, uncle,” Tim continued — it being, in his eyes, 
the then most prominent feature in Mr. Lyons’ figurative 
face, as by it he could at once realize a large sum of ready 
money, “ that can come off without much delay 

“That aself will take time,” replied Lyons. 

“We must take out administration for you. The law is 
slow, my son, beautifully slow, but sure. Your poor father, — 
•God be good to him, this night, — didn’t leave the house with- 
out money.” 

“ There’s two hundred pounds in the house,” said Tim. 

“That will do you, for the present, if you want to leave at 
once ; and indeed, I do not wonder that you’re in a hurry 
out of this place. I don’t wan’t to touch a penny of your 
ready money, for all the trouble I’ll have.” 

“ Where would you advise me to go, uncle ?” 

“ Most young gentlemen go see foreign parts,” answered 
Lyons. 


19 


300 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


“More fools they,” said Tim. “Faith, I’ve no wish to run 
the risk of being eaten by the blacks.” 

“There’s not blacks in all parts, Tim.” 

“ More or less,” replied the young gentleman. “ They’re 
in Asia, Africa, and the Antipathies.” 

“ They’re France ” suggested Lyons. 

“ Do you want me to turn my inside out, with living on 
hashed frogs?” replied his nephew. “ Devil a much choice 
in being served up decently at once, or killing yourelf on 
such unnatural diet.” 

Mr. Lyons regretted that his limited geographical knowl- 
edge did not enable him to find out a country, somewhat 
distant, to suit Tim’s taste. 

“ It’s quare enough,” he thought, if “ they are all black* 
barring the French. But it won’t do to press him ; he might 
stag. Maybe your’e right enough Tim,” he said aloud, “ but 
what need you go farther than Dublin, to see the heights of 
real elegant life ? Ah, that’s the place for fun, Tim. Every 
second shop a shoemaker’s, there’s such a power of shoes tat- 
tered to fritters, with the dancing they have in every house.” 

“ And perhaps I could get to the castle, uncle?” 

“ Nothing more likely, and if you do, mind I’m tellingyou, 
that- the Lord Lieutenant will take great notice of you, in 
consequence of what happened, — God guide us.” 

•Ten days after this, Tim found himself in Dublin, whilst 
Mr. Lyons, in his musty little office, in Galway, commenced 
to put the promised face, on the affairs of his nephew ; men- 
tally resolving to appropriate to himself, at some future day, 
one of its fat cheeks, and mayhap, the nose itself. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


301 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

When looking over the papers confided to me, it has al- 
ways given me great pleasure to light upon those passages 
which relate, almost exclusively, to the Dalystown fam- 
ily. At such times, I am no longer in my rude shanty, on 
the Inhospitable shores of Lake Superior, but in the old par- 
lor of Dalystown, sittihg with the old man, by its "cheerful 
fire, watching the red embers as they fall, like the high 
hopes of youth, into their ashy grave ; while, in imagina- 
tion, I listen to Mr. Daly’s stories of by-gone days, or to 
Emily’s sweet voice, as she sings the plaintive melodies of 
my beloved land. If no ruder guest than the old doctor 
enters, he is most welcome ; the fire burns brighter in his 
presence, and the saddest of those airs has notes of joy 
mihgling with its wild lament. That no member of the 
Dalystown family was free from anxiety and care, is very 
true ; yet, up to the period I have now to treat of, those 
little family re-unions, at the close of day, were marked with 
tranquil happiness, and though, perchance, sad thoughts 
were never very distant, they but enhanced those precious 
moments, snatched from care, as evening’s shadows add, by 
contrast, to the beauty of the foliage, which the glory of the 
setting sun still rests upon. 

But after O’Roarke’s last visit to Dalystown, both Henry 
and Emily remarked a great change in their father. He 
scarcely ever smiled now, — and how open and winning was 
the smile, that, with loving efforts, they strove to win back ! 
In vain would Henry converse in the most cheerful tones, 
which were, alas, very foreign to his heart. In vain would 
Emily carol her gayest airs, as she tripped by his door. 
Her voice, that was wont to fill his heart with joy, now 
seemed but to give him pain. At times, when it reached 
his ears, as he sat alone in his study, his lips would quiver, 
and his levered hand be pressed against his eyes, and some- 


302 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


times, as the sweet voice died away in the distance, the 
hot tears of the care worn gentleman found their way be- 
tween his thin fingers, and, falling on the book before him, 
blistered its page. 

Emily, too, poor child ! How often have those gentle 
eyes of thine filled with tears, even when thy song was the 
gayest; how often has that fair, swelling throat rebelled 
against thy loving heart, until the song thou wouldst have 
had all joy, died away in stilled sobs. 

There is an old saying, frequently verified, u That misfor- 
tunes never come alone.” One thing is certain, creditors 
never do; they hunt in packs, like wolves, and are quite as 
ravenous. O’Roarke was not the o'nly one of Mr. Daly’s 
creditors who was anxious to call in his money. In cases 
of the kind, at the time I write of, when a landed propri- 
etor got into difficulties, attorneys pricked up their ears ; — 

like the war horse, “ they scented the battle afar off.” 

Well, it is written, so let it remain ; but it is a very unsuit- 
able metaphor ; rather, like carrion crows, flapping their 
dusky wings over the body they are impatient to tear with 
their filthy beaks. Then commenced a very spirited game 
of foot ball, in which the debtor’s property was the ball, 
ar.d the attorneys were the players. At each kick, a slice 
came off, hence the saying, “ an attorney is sure to skin you,” 
and so it went rolling, from one to another, kick, kick, kick, 
until, as a general thing, there was no portion of it left for 
the creditors. What of that ? The attorneys, from the com- 
mencement, never intended that there should. Nay, often, 
at the conclusion of the game, they turned round on those 
selfsame clients, who had been looking on, with watery 
mouths, and kicked them, too, into pauperism. 

About this time a mortgage, for a large amount, became 
due on the Dalvstown property, and it was very doubtful 
if the holder would extend the time for payment. Petty 
debts, too, were frequently coming in, and Godfrey Daly’s 
proud nature was almost chafed to madness, when he found 
himself, as was too often the case, unable to discharge 
them. 

Nothing perhaps pained him more than the little retrench- 
ments he saw his children make, even in their dress, although 
they endeavored to conceal them from him. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


303 


Henry, at one time, proposed to sell his hunter, but his 
father looked so sad and wretched, when he mentioned it, 
that he abandoned the idea, and went to a hunt-meet on the 
following day, apparently in very boisterous humor, as he 
threatened to horsewhip Emily, for not having breakfast 
earlier for him ; and on his return, in the evening, he gave ’ 
a glowing description of the splendid run they had. While 
Henry was speaking, Emily sat a little apart, watching her 
father’s face ; and when she saw how sad it remained, and 
low far his mind was from the theme that was wont to in- 
terest him so much, she had to leave the room to conceal 
her tears. 

That night, after Henry had retired to rest, his sister 
knocked at his room door, and when he opened it, she flung 
herself into his arms. 

“ Oh Henry,” sobbed the poor girl, “is not papa greatly 
changed; even your description of the hunt, to-day, could 
not make him smile.” 

Thus wearily passed the winter months, and those winter 
nights, so cheerful of old. 

And what of Rose O’Donnell ? Had Henry ceased to 
think of her? 

I fear so poor a chronicler am I, selecting from my mate- 
rials -as I go along, without due regard to order or effect, I 
may have injured his character with my fair readers ; for I 
have given no description of how he received the news, on 
his return home, of Rose’s second departure for England. 
But, in defence of myself, I must say I had little to record; 
least of all a scene. Her aunt’s illness was cause, sufficient 
in itself, for the step ; but had it never existed, Henry felt 
that she would have gone. And yet, he knew that she lov- 
ed him, and that her love would ever be his; for the heart 
that could sacrifice itself to duty, was incapable of change. 

So he hid his treasure and his sorrow in his own breast ; 
both were too deep and sacred for noisy, vulgar grief, or 
hopeless despair. His love for Rose O’Donnell, devoid of 
the grossness of earth, mingled with his thoughts of heaven, 
and would have triumphed over death itself. 

Since her departure, she had written twice to Emily. Her 
last letter announced the perfect recovery of her aunt; but 


304 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


no mention was made, of Rose’s haying any intention to re- 
turn to Dalystown. This did not surprise her lover ; he felt 
perfectly sure, all along, that she had not intended to do so, 
and if there existed no obstacle to their loves but the Irish 
, Channel, it could be easily crossed. But the evident decline 
of his father’s health banished, for a time, all thoughts of 
love. 

It would have been an actual relief to his children, had 
Mr. Daly complained of illness. In such a case, there would 
be something tangible, something which might be reached^ 
but, to see his thin face grow thinner, his steps more lan- 
guid, his interest, in all that once interested him, lessen, day 
by day, and yet to hear his calm, melancholy voice, reply 
to their anxious enquiries, “ I am well, quite well, dears,” 
was something inexpressibly sad. At times, when he no- 
ticed the sorrowful looks of his children, he would endeavor 
to rally. One night in particular, he seemed quite himself 
again. He rallied Henry on some unsuccessful shooting 
of the latter’s on the previous dsy ; and, oh, joy of joys ! ho 
called Emily, “ pussy ! — bold pussy ! ! — wicked pussy ! ! ! 

The poor girl was wild with joy. Hope, — never very dis- 
tant from the young, — returned to her, making the old 
parlor wear again the cheerful look it didin the happy days 
gone by. She sang, played, laughed, and would scarcely 
believe the old family clock, when it announced the late- 
ness of the hour ; but, as from her infancy, she had looked 
upon it as an infallible oracle, it would be rank heresy to 
doubt it now. So, with a light step, she crossed the rooip. 
to give her father his nightly kiss. She had never missed 
doing so since the time when, avith mighty efforts, she clam- 
bered up his knee. Playfully pushing back his white hair, 
she said, “ I must get two, to-night !” 

But, as her lips pressed the old man’s cheek, a tear started 
from his eye and trickled to her face — to her heart. Me- 
chanically, she said: “ Good night, and blessing, papa.” 

“ Good night, and may God Almighty bless you, my dar- 
ling,” replied Mr. Daly, as he folded her in his arms. She 
glided from them, and silently left the room ; but, as she 
ascende^ the stairs her strength failed her, and she had to 
sit down on one of the steps. Although for some time past 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


305 


sorrow was no stranger to her young heart, yet the sudden 
change from revived hope to despondency, overpowered 
her. Her maid, on coming down stairs, was shocked to find 
her young mistress sitting there, looking so pale and weak. 

“ What's the matter, Miss Daly?” she asked. “Oh! Miss 
Emily, what has happened ? you look so pale.” 

. “Nothing, Mary,” she replied; “I believe I have been 
sitting up too late ; I found myself a little giddy and sat 
down to rest. Give me your arm, Mary, and I will go to my 
room.” 

“ Will I call Mr. Henry, or the master, Miss ?” 

“ Nonsense, you silly girl. I’m now quite well. You 
must not say a word about it to either of them.” 

Assisted by the servant, she reached her room. 

“ Remain, Mary,” she said, “ until I say a few prayers, 
you can then assist me to undress.” 

“I don’t like leaving you at all, to-night, Miss Emily,” 
said the girl. 

“Nonsense, you would only keep me awake, coming over 
every ten minutes to see if I was comfortable. If I was 
really sick, Mary, I would not part with you, for I know, of 
old, what a kind nurse you are.” 

Not until the girl had retired, did Emily give way to her 
tears, and the day was breaking before she had sobbed her- 
self to sleep. 

The next day was gloomy and damp, and Mr. Daly had 
remained a long time standing in a field which he was get- 
ting plowed — (it was now the first week in March) — and 
when he came into dinner he complained of cold. The fol- 
lowing morning he was quite hoarse, and it was evident, 
from the shivering* feel he experienced, thac he had got a 
severe cold. However, there were no symptoms to cause 
alarm, but quite enough to make Emily insist upon nursing 
him. 

“ You must bathe your feet to-night, papa,” she said, 
“ and if you are not quite well in the morning we will send 
for Dr. Kelly.” 

“ Dr. Kelly ! my love,” answered Mr. Daly, “ why, Emily, 
the doctor would laugh at us !” 

“ Let him, papa. I want to hear his laugh ; it would do 
me good.” 


306 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWX. 


“ Well, my love,” said her father, “ we will see about it 
in the morning.” 

When the morning arrived, Mr. Daly was still unwell ‘ 
but, though scarcely indisposed enough to keep his room, 
Emily would not hear of his leaving it. She formed a little 
conspiracy which she intended to make Doctor Kelly a 
party to, and now confided to Henry. 

“ You will ride over to the Grove,” she said to the latter, 
“ and tell Doctor Kelly how dispirited, how broken-hearted 
papa has become of late. This little cold is a good excuse 
to get him, if possible, not to think of all this harassing 
business for a few days. Heaven knows,” she continued, 
“ I do not believe the worst bodily ailment could be so bad 
as the mental misery we see him suffer. As long as we can 
keep him in his room he must' not hear anything to fret 
him ; — oh ! not one of those odious letters shall go near 
him. It is such a good opportunity, too, for the doctor to 
speak to him and advise him ; he knows so well how to 
scold and comfort at the same time. And I too, Henry, 
think, when I have papa all alone to myself, when I am 
nursing him, I will have courage to tell him I know not ex- 
actly what, but something about his having us to love him ; 
that no one can take from him our love ; and that we want 
nothing, care for nothing, but to see him happy. I have 
often gone to the study, lately, to say something like this 
to poor papa, but something always made me lose courage ; 
one time I would find him poring over papers, his face al- 
most stern ; at another, sitting so sad and abstracted that 
he did not hear me entering, and I have stolen out again 
unperceived, fearing to trust my voice to speak.” 

“Poor sister,” said Henry, smoothing her hair, as she 
nestled into him. 

“ But now,” she continued, “ it will be quite different, for 
while I am fussing about the room, making believe (as the 

eat nurse, I will find time to tell 



As soon as Henry had taken his departure for the Grove, 
Emily returned to her father. The first question he asked, 
on her entering the room, was, 

“ Any letters, Emily ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


307 


“ No, papa,” she replied, “ not one. See the way you have 
tossed these clothes, that I had so nicely tucked in. You 
will please remember that I am your nurse, and intend to 
be Mery cross, and scold frightfully.” 

“But, Emily, I must get up ; and", with all respect to your 
judgment, and great experience in such matters,” 

“No sneering, papa,” she said, interrupting him, and 
threatening him with her finger. 

“Well, seriously love, it would only injure and weaken 
me, to remain in bed all day.” 

“ But I don’t intend that you shall, that is. if you are very 
good and obedient. Mary is coming in to light your fire, 
and I 3m going to give you a light breakfast of toast and 
tea, after which, you may get up, and be ready to receive 
Dr. Kelly.” 

“ Oh, Emily, it was foolish of you to send for him.” 

“ Very, papa, he is such a horrid man, and will have so 
much objection to come and sit with you for half an hour. 
Come in, Mary. That is right, let me see what a bright fire 
you will make, it is a sign, you know, of a merry sweetheart. 
I will be back in a moment, papa,” and off she tripped from 
the room. 

In a few minutes she was back, bearing a sm^ll tray cov- 
ered with a white napkin, on which was laid a plate of dry 
toast, cup, &c., and a diminutive teapot. 

u Mary,” she said, “ please move that table to the side of 
papa’s bed. There, that will do. Did you ever see so fat a 
little teapot, papa ? It has made me laugh all the way up 
stairs. It is old nurse’s property, and she has had it, I don’t 
know how many thousand years ; — I assure you, her lend- 
ing it is a great mark of her esteem for you. She holds 
ours in utter contempt ; and presented me with this one, 
when she saw me preparing your breakfast, as being worth 
a dozen such gewgaws for keeping the tea nice and warm. 
Wait until I prop up these pillows at your back. Now, 
let me throw this dressing gown over your shoulders. There, 
that will do, and now your majesty may eat.” 

“I believe, pussy, you want to coax me into pretending 
to be sick.” 

“ Oh, no, papa ; but these colds are so treacherous. I will 


308 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


wheel your chair over to the fire, and here is one for the 
doctor. Where are your slippers ? I will put them on the 
fender to warm them. Oh, papa, you have not eaten one 
bit of your nice toast.” t 

“ I have no appetite, love,” replied Mr. Daly, “ but that 
cup of tea was very refreshing. Tell nurse that I am much 
obliged to her, and am inclined to become a convert to her 
opinion.” 

“ I shall do so, it will make her quite proud. I will now 
take away these things, and you can get up and dress. But 
don’t be long, for I want to come back and sit with you by 
this cosy fire.” 

By the time Mr. Daly was dressed, Emily had returned. 
Making him sit down in his arm chair, she placed a low 
stool beside it, for herself, and sitting down, she rested her 
hands on the old gentleman’s knees, and looked up into his 
face. 

“ How do you feel now, papa?” she asked. 

“ I feel very well, Emily,” he replied,- “I suppose I dare 
not say quite well, after all the fuss that you have made 
about me. But, Emily, love, you say that there were no 
letters for me to-day ?” 

“No indeed, papa.” 

“Take care, madam nurse ; is that a white lie ? I think I 
see a guilty blush starting to your face ; yes, here it is, quite 
palpable, upon my word.” 

“ It is not there then, papa,” she replied, “ for the reason 
you think ; for to-day, there have been no letters. But I 
want to speak to you about those letters, dearest papa, and 
all that is troubling you so much. This many a day I have 
longed to speak to you of these things, aild if I do now, you 
won't feel vexed, dearest papa ?” 

“No, no, darling. When was I vexed with you, pussy?” 

“ Oh never, never ! That is it, dearest papa. Why, then, 
should our happiness depend upon others ? I know, papa, 
that you are embarrassed ; that you owe a great deal of 
money to those people who are continually writing to you.” 

Mr. Daly raised his hand, which had been resting on his 
child’s head, and passed it across his forehead. 

“ Oh ! papa,” said Emily stopping short, “I am giving you 
pain.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


309 


“ No, no, love, go on ” 

“ Well, papa,” she resumed, “ do you remember telling us 
of a gentleman whom you knew in years past, who was great- 
ly embarrassed — how he left his place, gave it up to his 
creditors, and went, no one knew where? How, in years 
afterwards, he returned to his home, free of debt, and told 
you that the thought of being able to do so had sustained 
him in his long exile.” 

“ I remember all this, love,” replied her father. “ But I 
am too old for such hopes. Too old, ever to see them real- 
ized.” 

“ Oh, papa, your case is quite different from this gentle- 
man’s ; I only mention it, because it has put a little plan into 
my head. He went away, a solitary, lonely wanderer ; were 
we to leave this place to-morrow, we woul(^still be together.” 

Mr. Daly started from his chair and paced the floor, with 
quick unsteady steps. His face flushed and then grew as 
pale as hers who witnessed the excitement her words had 
caused. 

“ God pi^y me,” she said, as she bowed her head upon the 
arm of the chair, “ I thought to comfort him ; and what have 
I done.” 

In a moment her father was by her\ide, and taking both 
her hands in his, he said : 

“ Forgive me, darling, for so thoughtlessly frightening 
you. But I love the old place, Emily. Your words excited 
me for a moment ; but see, love, I am now calm.” 

He took his seat, as he spoke, and, stooping down, kissed 
her forehead. 

“ This little weakness,” he continued, “ has passed away. 
So tell me all you wish to say.” 

“ No, no,” she replied, “ I know not how to do it, and only 
fret you.” 

“No, no, my child; speak, I conjure you. This phantom 
has been before me, for many a weary day. I felt that it 
would, one day, take the form of words, and they never can 
come from gentler lips than thine.” 

“ Oh, papa, I dare not.” 

“Nay, my child, the worst is spoken — c If we leave this 
place.’ Tell me, darling, what antidote had your loving 
heart dreamed of, for so bitter a draught?’ ” 


310 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Have I not said it ? We go together.” 

“ Ah, whither love ?” 

“ Father,” she answered, “ think not that I do not love 
this place ; that there is a flower, tree, or withered shrub in 
it, that is not dear to me ; yet, so that you are with me, I 
care not whither.” 

She took his hand, as she spoke, as if, thus armed, she was 
ready, even at the moment, to go forth into the wide, strange 
world. 

Mr. Daly pressed the little hand he held. 

“ But I do not speak of leaving Dalystown, never to re- 
turn,” she continued, “ but of leaving it, and getting rid 
of those horses, servants and thousand other expenses 
which seem to us necessaries here. Henry said the other 
day, that what weuld.be penury here, would be sufficient 
for comfort elsewhere.” 

“ That is true enough, my love,” said Mr. Daly. 

“ How often too, papa,” she continued, “ have I heard 
you say, that you would like to travel with Henry and 
myself through those countries you have visited in your 
youth ; yet, to do so, you would have to leave Dalystown 
for many a long day. But we can do better than this ; 
we can go to some quiet place, where we will be happy — 
oh, so happy — foi* then those people wdl cease to perse- 
cute you, and the very thought that you are leaving naught 
undone to pay them, will bring peace to your mind, and 
our old happy days will return to us. You asked me where 
we should go to ; well, as you are so good a papa as to 
listen to your poor pussy,. I will tell you ; I have planned all 
about it. It is to be a sweet little place, not far from Dub- 
lin, and yet, not too near; but quite near enough for Henry 
to run up once in a while to serve his terms, until he is 
called to the bar. While he is away, you and I will spend 
our evenings castle building for him. I promise you, noth- 
ing less than a judgeship will satisfy us, and when he is 
admitted to the bar, in what dignity we will receive him ; in 
what awe we will pretend to hold him. Counsellor Daly ! 
Pray, most learned gentleman, how long will business 
allow you to remain down here ? Do you find the scent 
of those flowers agreeable after the musty stuff bags? 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


311 


Oh, papa, I picture him, to myself, coming down to us 
when term is over. First, he must go with you to see your 
improvements, for our new home shall have land attached 
to it; then in the evening, when we are sitting around the 
fire, he will tell us of his life ; of the clients he has already 
made, and many a funny story to make us laugh. At first, 
he will speak modestly of himself ; but, by-and-by, his face 
will glow and his words become confident as he speaks of 
the goal he aims to reach, and, in the distance, appears a 
bright future, into which he is to lead you, papa ; for that 
shall be his goal, his triumph, and his reward. Yes ! in 
that quiet home, sitting by its peaceful hearth, Henry, good, 
noble Henry, shall tell you how bravely he hopes to climb 
to fortune, until at no distant day, this, our old home, never 
forgotten, shall ring its thousand welcomes in your ears. 
And then, too, dearest papar, when Henry returns to the 
world, I will sit at your feet, as I do now, and all night long, 
I — I will sing for you, papa. 5 ’ 

As she ceased speaking, she bowed her head upon her 
father’s knee. 

When she had first spoken of leaving Dalystown, although 
her voice trembled, yet, there were no tears in her eyes ; 
nor, did the sudden agony she saw her words had caused, 
call them forth ; yet, she w^ept now, completely vanquished 
by the scenes of tranquil happiness she had been depicting. 

“ Heaven pardon me,” said Godfrey Daly, raising his child 
in his arms, “ if I have, in my fretful sorrow, seemed un- 
mindful of the treasures it has given to me. Oh ! my dar- 
ling child, you have brought comfort to your father’s heart. 
God has inspired you to speak thus.” 

She looked timidly, joyfully, up at him. “This then, 
sh£ said, “ is no foolish dream of mine.” 

“ JNo, my child'; I will consult with Henry and Dr. Kelly, 
about letting this place ; and, if it be the will of God I am 
never to see it more, welcome the humblest home to which 
I shall bear my children’s love.” 

Again, the fair head nestled in his bosom, and Godfrey 
Daly pressed his daughter to his heart. As he did so, the 
door opened, and Dr. Kelly and Henry entered. 

Emily left her father’s arms, and went up to her brother. 


312 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


While she extended her hand to the doctor, she said : “ Oh ! 
Henry, 1 am so happy ; come with me and leave papa and 
the doctor alone for a few minutes.” 

« But you are crying, Emily,” said her brother. 

“ And smiling, too, Henry,” she answered, “ and the doc- 
tor will tell you that these are happy symptoms. Oh, doc- 
tor,” she added playfully, as she led Henry from the room, 
“ you have come too late, I have cured papa.” 

“ What is the gipsy about to do now ?” said the doctor, as he 
shook hands with Mr. Daly. “ Henry tells me you have 
been complaining a little, Godfrey.” 

“ Oh, it is nothing but a slight cold, James. Emily (may 
heaven bless my darling child !) would insist on sending for 
you ; it was foolish of her to do so, but I am very glad now 
that you have come.” 

“ Show me your tongue,” s&id the doctor. “ There is a 
contradiction here, between pulse and tongue ; the one is 
going like a mill-race, and yet the other looks healthy 
enough.” 

‘.‘Now for your skill, James, to account for this.” 

“ It requires no doctor’s skill to do so, with the glance I 
got at that little gipsy’s face to assist me. You and Emily 
have been conversing on some subject, which has moved you 
both. This pulse comes from the heart, not the stomach, 
and my doctor’s stuff would fail to reach it.” 

“ 4 A Daniel come to judgment,’” said Mr. Daly, cheer- 
fully. “ What think you, J antes, of my letting Dalystown ?” 

Doctor Kelly could scarcely believe that he heard aright. 
“What! Godfrey Daly, speaking in a cheerful tone of leav- 
ing Dalystown 

u I surprise you,” continued Mr. Daly, “ but, you should 
have heard Emily. Such wise and good reasons has she 
given for the step, interwoven in such a flowery net of hope, 
love, and peace, that the misery of being driven hence, 
which has followed me like a dark shadow, lost its gloomy 
coloring, coming in such a guise.” He then reported what 
Emily had been saying. “ And now, doctor,” he answered, 
« what think you of all this ?” 

Doctor Kelly had listened attentively to his friend, and 
not until a few moments had elapsed, did he reply, then 
not directly, to Mr. Daly’s question. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


313 


“The dear girl shames us all, Godfrey,” he at length said. 

“ So wise, so loving, and so good.” 

“ But what think you will Henry say?” asked Mr. Daly. 

“Even as Emily has said,” replied the doctor. “Their 
loving natures are the same. Godfrey Daly, you are su- 
premely blessed in your children.” 

There was a silence for a few moments. Possibly the old 
doctor was thinking of those he had lost, for he sighed more 
than once. But he immediately afterwards said, in his 
usual cheerful tone of voice : “ By-the-bye, I must not 

forget that I have come here in my professional capacity. 
A doctor never quits a patient without doing something. 
Let me feel your pulse again. Yes, it is quiet now. Have 
you an appetite ?” 

“ No ; for the last two days I have felt a nausea to all 
kinds of food.” 

“ Have you slept well ?” 

“ Scarcely at all, last night. I had a dry, burning sensa- 
tion all over my body ; and yet, did I move the clothes, I 
felt quite chilly.” 

“ Yes, you have a feverish cold. It is nothing when taken 
in time. You must bathe your feet to-night, and get lots 
of clothes over you in bed. Take a warm drink when lying 
down. Don’t toss the clothes off, and nature will do the 
rest. To-morrow you must remain in bed until late in the 
afternoon, and then only sit up for a short time. The next 
day you may go hunt, if you please.” 

“All! James, my hunting days are over.” 

“ So much the better for the safety of your neck. A man 
can be very happy without risking it twice a week.’ 

“ But Henry, doctor. Think you he will miss much those 
country sports if we decide on putting Emily’s plan into 
execution ?” 

“ Not he. He will only change the name and the des- 
cription of his game. Instead of foxes he will hunt men. 
Egad, I’m in doubt which are the greatest rogues. But,s e- 
riously speaking, when has Henry attended a hunt V’ 

“Not often, indeed, of late,” replied Mr. Daly. 

“Just so,” said the doctor. “Godfrey, your children 
endeavor to hide from you their sufferings at witnessing the 


314 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


sorrow that presses upon you ; the more so, as they feel 
powerless to alleviate it. Henry feels this keenly. Nay, 
it degrades him, in his own eyes, to think that he looks on 
idle at the embarrassments in which you are involved, with- 
out making use of the talents and acquirements which 
nature and education have given to him to combat them. 
Emily must not get all the credit of this plan, it is equally 
Henry’s. As we came over here to-day he begged of me 
to speak to you about leaving this place, and told me how 
anxious he was to be placed in some position where he could 
work for you.” 

“ My good, noble boy,” said Mr. Daly. 

. “ And here are the conspirators, the plotters,” said the 
doctor, as Henry and Emily entered the room. “ Come 
here, Madam Pert, and tell me how you dare whisk out of 
the room without scarcely speaking to me. Ah, my good 
little Emily,” he continued, taking her hand, “I believe I 
must not scold you ; your father has just been telling me 
of your plan, and I approve of it very much.” 

“ And what do you say, father?” asked Henry. 

“ My children,” said Godfrey Daly, taking a hand of each, 
“ henceforth you shall be my guides. Lead me wheresoever 
you please. I care not, so that you are with me.” 

It was a grouping worthy of a painter’s pencil. The 
three figures, so different, and yet bearing so strong a 
family likeness to each other. Godfrey Daly, reclining in 
his arm chair; his worn, intellectual features flushed with 
excitement, while Henry and Emily stood on either side, 
clasping his thin hands. The one, emblematical of youthful 
vigor, the other, of gentle beauty. Thus, it w^ould seem as 
if the strength and comeliness of the old man’s youth had 
returned, and stood beside him in the forms of his children. 

After a moment, the doctor (who w r as afraid, lest too 
much excitement would injure Mr. Daly, in his then weak 
state,) said : “We must have no more planning, .or speak- 
ing on business, to-day; you are not equal to it, Godfrey. 
Those feverish colds are nothing, when you meet them out- 
side the walls, but if you let them approach too near the 
citadel, they become dangerous. Now, to continue my 
metaphor, over excitement is a great traitor, and sometimes 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


315 


opens the gate ; so we must get rid of it. You perceive, 
Emily, what a taste I have for the military profession ! I 
have no doubt but that I would have made a first-rate yeo- 
manry captain.” 

“ Oh, doctor, you would not have stooped to the yeoman- 
ry,” said Henry, smiling. 

u Why not, pray ? I think they would have suited me much 
better than the line.” 

“ Why so, doctor ?” 

“ Because they were sure to. run away at the first sign of 
danger. Do you remember, Godfrey, the day we met them 
going into Merrion Square, to be drilled ?” 

“ No, James.” 

“Well, I am not surprised that you should not, for it is 
many a year ago ; but the taunt of a little ragamuffin to a 
fat sergeant, fixed it on my mind.” 

“What was it?” asked Mr. Daly. 

“Just as you and I,” replied the doctor, “were passing 
one of the gates leading into the square, a body of yeoman- 
ry came up, on their way in, to be drilled. We stood back 
to let them pass. As usual, they were attended by a crowd 
of boys, who attempted to squeeze themselves in with the 
men. 4 Make way there,’ said a fat sergeant, waddling like 
a goose. 4 Make way there, will ye’s, for the souldiers,’ at 
the same time catching a little ragged fellow by the collar 
of his coat, and nearly flinging him out of it. 

“‘Oh ! boys, honeys,’ cried the little fellow, picking him- 
self up, ‘ come and see the yeo’s playing soldiers.’ ” 

“ I remember the circumstance now, perfectly,” said Mr. 
Daly, laughing, and that you gave the little rebel half-a- 
crown.” 

“To be sure I did,” replied the doctor. “By-tliebye, 
speaking of scenes in Dublin reminds me, I had a letter 
from a friend yesterday, who resides therQ ; and he writes to 
me that Tim O’Roarke is cutting a great dash.” 

“ Indeed ?”*said Mr. Daly. 

“Yes. He is at present going through the operation of 
being lionized and victimized, in a very low but expensive 
manner. He has got in with a lot of fast young scamps, 
who eat his dinners, drink his wine, win his money, and tell 
19 


316 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


him he is a deuced decent fellow. One of those young 
scamps told my friend that Tim ‘ was a most original and 
amusing animal, worth studying, especially as he bled freely,’ 
Tim thinks he is getting into high life, although, scamps 
as these fellows are, they would never think of knowing 
him outside a tavern, or a billiard room. To illustrate this, 
my friend writes, that one of Tim’s most aristocratic acquaint- 
ances borrowed Tim’s horse. While out riding, he met his 
father, — who is no less than a right honorable, — and joined 
him. As they passed down Sackville street, Tim who was 
standing in the door ofMitchel’s cigar shop, recognized his 
friend, mounted on the borrowed steed, and commenced 
waving his hand in a most graceful and familiar manner. 

“ Who is that, Tom ?” asked the young gentleman’s father. 

‘ Where sir,’ said young hopeful, staring Tim straight in the 
face. ‘ Why there,’ replied his father, at the cigar shop ; I 
don’t know him, and I don’t wish you to have such acquaint- 
ances,’ ‘ I never saw him before, sir,’ said Master Tom. 

“ c Why, sir,’ replied his father, he is saluting you, as if he 
intended to twist his arm out of its socket.’ ‘ It must be 
John, father, he is saluting,’ replied young impudence, mean- 
ing the servant, who followed them on horseback. 4 Ah, there 
is Summerville and his sister, ahead of us, let us ride on and 
join them,’ and they cantered off, leaving Tim gaping after 
them, in a conf used uncertainty, as to the identity of his 
friend, his horse, himself, and all terrestrial things.” 

“ I am sorry for the young man,” said Mr. Daly. Where 
is his uncle ? — he should see after him.” 

“ Why, I am told,” replied Dr. Kelly, “ that he encourag- 
ed him to leave the country, and go see life, as they call it. 
No doubt, he had some honest reason for doing so.” 

“That reminds me,” said Mr. Daly, “there are some bills 
of mine overdue in Lyons’ hands. However, if we decide 
on leaving this place, the sale of the stock, horses, and other 
things, will pay all my small debts. I wrote to Lyons 
about those bills, but have received no answer from him.” 

“ The silence of such a fellow is to be dreaded,” replied 
the doctor. “But, we are breaking through the regulation 
I have just made, that all business subjects must be avoided 
for a few days. Do you know, Henry, that the Blazers meet 
at the wood of Doone, to-morrow ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


317 


“Yes, doctor,” replied Henry. 

“ You must go, Henry,” said his father. 

“ Oh, no, father, I do not care to go.” 

u Upon my honor, if the day answers, you shall go,” an- 
swered Mr. Daljq “ so that is settled. Perhaps soon, Henry, 
you will have to forego the amusement altogether.” 

“So much the better, father,” replied Henry, “I never 
intended that my life should be passed away among hounds 
and horses.” 

“ Right, Henry,” said Doctor Kelly, “ there are things in 
the world better worth winning than a fox’s brush.” 

“ Much as you despise it,” remarked Mr. Daly, “ Henry 
must bring it home, to-morrow. Ah ! J ames, I have seen 
the day when your heart warmed at the cry of the hounds.” 

“ It does to this day, Godfrey. If I had time, I assure you 
I would like to drive over to Doone in the morning, to see 
old Tony putting his babbies into covert.” 

“ Well, can’t you make time, doctor ?” said Mr. Daly. 

“ To be sure,” replied the old man, as a laugh stole to 
his face, t; it would be easy enough to make a few hours, 
bnt the difficulty is to splice them on to the old twenty- 
four.” 

“ Now, Emily,” said Mr. Daly, “ do you hear the doctor?” 

‘S Oh, doctor,” she exclaimed, laughing, “ you really are 
incorrigible.” 

“ It is time for me to be off,” said the doctor, “ when you 
begin to scold; if you must scold some one, there is your 
father for you ; I give him infb your charge. He is to 
bathe his feet to-night, take a warm drink and this powder, 
after which put plenty of blankets over him ; he is not to 
get up to-morrow, until towards evening. He is self-willed, 
like yourself, and will be inclined to break through these 
rules ; so you will have plenty of opportunity to scold him 
to your heart’s content. And now, Godfrey, good bye, I will 
f.ee you to-morrow.” 

“ It will be too much trouble to give you,” replied Mr. 
Daly. “I hope I will not require to see you.” 1 

“ Thank you,” said the doctor. 

“I mean professionally, James.” 

“Well, I suppose I can come see you for all that. ‘ The> 


318 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


cat can look at the 'king.’ Not that I think any sensible 
cat, with a proper amount of self-respect, would give a rat’s 
tail to do so. Good bye, again, Godfrey. Good bye, Emily.” 
(Then aside to her,) prattle away all the nonsense you can 
think of, while he remains up. You are coming to see me 
off, Henry.” 

When the doctor and Henry had left the room, the latter 
anxiously enquired about his father. 

“ He is a little feverish,” replied Dr. Kelly, but that I at- 
tribute, in a great measure, to excitement. Amuse his mind 
as much as pdssible ; it will not do for him to think of busi- 
ness just now, and when in his presence, be as cheerful as 
possible. For, mark me, Henry, your father, at present, 
seems actually to enjoy the idea of renting Dalystown. Emi- 
ly has introduced it, in its brightest colors ; but a re-action 
will come, which we must be prepared for. It is hard to 
transplant an old tree, harder still for one like my poor friend 
to leave his ancestral home, never, perhaps, to return to it.” 

“ Then it might be better to give up the idea altogether,” 
said Henry. 

“ No,” replied the doctor, “ for it is the only course left. 
Were a torrent rushing to destroy your favorite tree, you 
would take it up, at all hazard.” 

“ Alas!” almost as well to let the angry flood overwhelm 
it.” 

“Not so,” said the doctor. “Remember the good old say- 
ing, c help yourself, and God will help you.’ Besides, I have 
been looking now at the glbomiest side. The love of his 
children, will, I feel assured, support your father through 
what must be to him a severe trial. And now, good bye, 
my boy ; perhaps you will find me here, to-morrow, on your 
return from hunting, for I will try to arrange my time so 
that I will have a few hours to sit with your father.” 

. . “ In all our planning, doctor, Emily and I have looked to 
you as a tower of strength.” 

“It would pain my old heart,” he replied, “ if you did not 
calculate on all the assistance I can give. But there is a 
tower of strength, Henry, to which we all must look, — not 
made of clay, — whose magnitude the stars do not compass.” 

“ I understand you, doctor, I hope we have not forgotten 
to seek His help.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


319 


“ I am Sllr © you have not, Henry. Keep up a good heart 
and all "will be well.” 


CHAPTER XXIY 

It was a line, dry, clear March morning, when Henry 
Daly rode out of the yard at Dalystown, on his way to the 
wood of Doone. As the covert was to be drawn by the 
Blazers, — the then finest pack of hounds in Europe, — and 
it was a sure find ; as the ground, too, was in good order, the 
wind just sufficiently strong to make the scent lie, — there 
was every prospect of a good day’s sport. Not long since, 
Henry would have noted all those favorable signs with the 
keen zest of a sportsman, but now, although from habit he 
failed not to notice them, they made no impression upon 
him. However, despite the many and sad thoughts that 
filled his mind, something like his old feelings returned, 
when he found himself at the meet. There is nothing more 
exhilerating to a sportsman than a hunt meet, on a fine 
morning, with a good run in prospective. To be sure, the 
adventurous Cockney, who, the evening before, has been 
picturing to himself glorious sport, and the accomplishment 
of wonderful feats of horsemanship, — when in the presence 
of the hounds and breakneck fences, is apt to find his cour- 
age, like Bob Acres, “ oozing out at the palms of his hands.” 
But a Galway man knows no such craven feeling ; even in 
the days of his novitiate, no dastard fear disturbs him ; he 
is, in a manner, born a sportsman, and the cry of hound, is 
to him as the war blast to the warrior. 

The whipper-in and earth-stopper, were uncoupling the* 
hounds, and old Tony, the huntsman, calling them by name? 
and ranging them in order, when young Daly rode up.. 


320 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


There they sat in lines, five deep, immovable, watching 
their huntsman’s eye, while their anxiety to be let into cov- 
ert, might be noted by the quivering flanks of those on the 
outside. A number of gentlemen, wearing scarlet hunting 
coats, sat on their horses, close by, waiting to see them en- 
tered, whilst others, who were mounted on horses whose 
youth, or want of proper training, made it almost impossi- 
ble for their riders to keep them steady for a moment, were 
scattered about the fields. Every now and then too, a loi- 
terer might be seen in the distance, spurring, to make up for 
lost time, and clearing all before him, well knowing that if 
the hounds broke covert before he was up, the chance for 
overtaking them would be small indeed. 

Fox was too accomplished a hunter to allow of his mas- 
ter’s being afraid to approach the hounds, whose presence 
^ the horse acknowledged, by pricking up his ears, and look- 
ing down at them with a very approving eye. 

Henry had not long reined in hi^ horse, when he felt his 
shoulder tapped, and turning round, recognized his friend 
Anthony O’Kelly ; not close to him, however, for Anthony’s 
horse, — about as wild an animal as Anthony himself, — had 
gone plunging off with him to some distance. 

“ Come here, Henry,” shouted O’Kelly, “I cannot stop a 
moment in one place with this horse. It was at the risk 
of committing murder,” he continued, as Henry joined him, 
“that I brought him near the hounds, when I saw you 
riding up.” 

“ Why, do you not ride a steady horse, Anthony ?” asked 
’his friend. 

“ Steady, be d — d,” replied Anthony, jerking out his 
words, as the horse poked, in the laudable endeavor to 
pull his rider over his head, “ I’d — as — soon — ride a — hobby 
'horse, as one of your steady ones. If the hounds were 
once off, I would soon take the devil out of him.” 

L At this moment the huntsman, cracking his whip, called 
out, u get away, hark over — hark over — hark over, my bab- 
bies.” | Wildly the hounds rushed forward, and bounded 
into the covert. Old Tony, with his hand up, warning to 
silence, rode along by its side. Presently a hound gave 
tongue, then another. 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


321 


“ That’s Ranger and Gipsy,” said Tony, whose practiced 
ear could distinguish the tone of each hound, “ they’ve 
got on a hare. Ware hare, Ranger ; fie — fie, Gipsy. Ware 
babbling, Dairymaid,” as a young hound gave tongue. Then 
there was a solitary prolonged note ahead. 

“ That’s Music,” exclaimed the huntsman ; u she’s on the 
fox ; yoicks to Music, yoicks to Music there. Hark forward — 
hark forward — hark forward.” 

“ Back, gentleman,” said the huntsman, as some pressed 
forward; “hold hard — hold hard. He’ll break at the cor- 
ner next to us here. There he goes,” he continued in a 
whisper, as a fine dog fox jumped upon the high bank that 
ran round the covert, and sat for a moment listening to the 
cry of the hounds behind him, then, clearing a wide dike, 
he landed on the opposite side, gave himself one shake, 
and broke, in gallant style, for the rising ground in front 
of him. 

“Tallyho!” shouted old Tony, as the hounds came dash- 
ing out of covert, “ tallyho ! Now, gentlemen, ride as fast as 
you like. Its not a bad horse that will keep the Blazers in 
sight, to-day.” 

The fox shaped his course for another covert, about seven 
miles off, and this distance was traveled over without a 
check. Too hotly pressed to remain any time in the ref- 
uge he had sought, he again broke, taking to a deep bog. on 
the opposite side of which was another covert. This was a 
great disappointment to those who were well up in the 
hunt, and quite the contrary to those who were far behind, 
and who had already realized “ that it is the pace which 
kills for, as the horses could not cross the bog, there was 
nothing for it but to take to the road, “ and the last in the 
field, is always first on the road.” 

O’Kelly and Daly were among the first during the run, 
but both of them disliked road riding. 

“ Let them go on, Anthony,” said his friend. “ Do their 
best, the fox will be either killed or earthed, an hour before 
they can come up with the hounds.” 

“ Well,” said O’Kelly, “ the Blazers did go it in fine style 
to-day. Do you know, Henry, had the run lasted two miles 
longer, I would have to give up ; my horse is completely 
blown.” 


322 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ You have kept your promise, Anthony, and taken the 
devil out of him.” 

“ Only for the day,” replied Anthony. “ It is with him — 

“ When tbe devil was sick, the devil a saint would be ; 

When the devil got well, tbe devil a saint was he.” 

Fox is quite fresh, how splendidly he carried you to-day.” 

“ Buy him, Anthony.” 

. “ What, Fox? You would not part with him.” 

“ I don’t know that, Anthony ; we are speaking of leaving 
Dalystown.” 

“We!” exclaimed O’Kelly. “Surely your father would 
not think of leaving the old place ?” 

“We will move on slowly, Anthony, and I will tell you 
all about it.” >• 

As the two friends rode side by side, Henry went into a 
short but very clear statement of his father’s affairs, and the 
necessity of action. O’Kelly’s face, as he listened, grew sad 
and thoughtful. 

“ By George, Henry,” he said, when his friend had con- 
cluded, “ it is too bad ; but I believe that the breaking up 
of the establishment at Dalystown is the wisest course to be 
pursued. Let us not mind those hounds any more to-day, 
I will ride home with you, to see your father.” 

“ That’s a good fellow, Anthony,” replied Henry, “ you 
always make him laugh, and Dr. Kelly told us to keep up 
his spirits as much as possible. Who have we here ?” 

This last remark was caused by Henry’s perceiving a post 
chaise coming on behind them. 

“ The special commission was to have terminated in Gal- 
way, on yesterday,” replied O’Kelly, “Very likely it is 
some of those d — d lawyers returning from it.” 

As the post chaise was passing them, old Mr. Warburton 
popped his red face out of the window. 

“ Halloa, postboy, stop !” he shouted. “ Do you hear, 
sir? Stop, and be d — d to you. Anthony, knock that 
fellow out of the saddle ; he’s as deaf as a post.” 

The man pulled up so suddenly that had the window 
been large enough, the old gentleman stood a fair chance 
of being jerked out on the road, for, notwithstanding his 
deafness, he had heard the unusual method (unless at elec- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


323 


tion time) his fare had suggested, for stopping a post boy. 

“ How are you, my lads ?” said the old gentleman. “ That 
is right; mounted in the pig’s skin; but where are the 
hounds ?” 

“ They have crossed the bog, to Heathlawn, sir,” replied 
Henry, “ and we have left the road riding to others.” 

“ Quite right,” answered the old gentleman ; “ at best they 
will have but covert hunting at Heathlawn.” 

“ We had a splendid run, though, from Doone,” said An- 
thony. 

“ Yes. That is a fine country you must have crossed. Ah ! 
my lads, I saw the day I would have liked to be alongside of 
you.” 

“ You are not too old yet,” said O’Kelly. 

“ Who said I was, you puppy,” answered W arburton ; “ but 
what good is that when this infernal gout has my legs as big 
as the butt end of an elephant’s trunk. Don’t you think a 
post chase would be rather an inconvenient way to cross 
a country in, eh, Mr. Anthony ?” 

“ Well, perhaps so,” replied O’Kelly, “ when one is not 
. accustomed to do the thing in that way. But what would 
you think of a balloon ? it would take you over the fences 
nicely, and at the same time you could be raising yourself 
in the world, by throwing sand in the eyes of your friends 
below you. By George, I think it would be a most states- 
manlike way of hunting.” 

“ Make me one, Anthony,” replied the old gentleman ; 
“ you ought to know how, for I hear you are a first rate 
hand at flying a kite ; eh, Henry, I think I paid him off for 
the balloon,” and the old fellow laughed until his face 
grew purple. 

May I ask you, Mr. Warburton,” said Henry, “ where you 
are coming from ?” 

“ From Galway,” he replied, u I left at eight o’clock this 
morning. Don’t forget, Henry, to tell your father that you 
met me and that I have kept my word. I told him that I 
would hire a chaise to go see that scoundrel, Maloney, 
hanged, and I did so.” 1 

“ You don’t mean to say, Mr. Warburton,” said O’Kelly, 
that you went to Galway on no other business than to see 
the fellow hanged?” 


324 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ By , but I do,” he replied, “ I’ll honor you, Anthony, 

with four horses, or, may be, a balloon,” and he winked at 
Henry. 

“ I am much obliged,” answered O’Kelly, “ for the in- 
tended honor ; but do you not think this novel sport will be 
rather a tax on human life, if a man has to be hanged, now 
and then, to allow you to indulge in it ?” 

“ Egad,” he replied, “ I am done with such sport, but, 
lads, I had a good object in going.” 

“ What was that, Mr Warburton ?” 

“ Do you see an outside car, coming along the road ?” he 
asked. 

“ No.” 

“ Ah, the scoundrels have stopped to drink again.” 

“ Who do you mean, sir?” 

“ Why, my lads, you must know I brought four young 
fellows that I knew to be scampish, (sons to tenants of 
mine,) to Galway, to witness the execution of Maloney, 
thinking it would have a salutary effect upon them. But 
I never was more mistaken in my life. I don’t believe that 
they have been one hour sober since they entered the town 
of Galway up to the present hour. One of the fellows 
had the impudence to tell me this morning, that it was his 
feelings overpowered him. I knew better ; I knew it was 
whiskey.” 

“There is an outside car coming on now,” remarked 
O’Kelly. 

“Yes, that’s mine,” said the old gentleman, “I’ll be 
laughed at by the whole parish if these fellows are seen re- 
turning home, drunk, with me. Drive on, you rascal. 
Good bye, my lads. Don’t forget to tell your father, Henry, 
that you met me, and that Maloney died a d — d coward.” 

“ What about those others who were to be tried with him ?” 
asked Henry. 

“ Their trials are postponed, until the assizes, to give time 
to procure further evidence against them. It is said that 
the crown lawyers were afraid to trust the cripple in their 
cases, as he seemed half inclined to back out so far as they 
were concerned ; but he ran Maloney to the death, breast 
high all through.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


S25 


“ Ah, here comes the car, powdering along,” said O’Kelly. 

“ Drive on, you rascal,” shouted Billy Warburton, “ drive 
on, or I’ll shoot you.” 

Thus admonished, the deaf postillion set whip and spur to 
bis jaded horses, and away rattled the chaise. In a few 
moments, the car, which O’Kelly had seen in the distance, 
came up. There were five men on it, including the driver, 
four of whom were singing boisterously, as their bodies 
swayed from side to side ; the fifth was lying in the middle 
of the car, in a drunken sleep, his legs dangling down over 
the back panel. 

As soon as O’Kelly and Daly were recognized, the sing- 
ing ceased, and the vocalists, taking off their hats, endeavor- 
ed to salute the gentlemen in a very dignified and respect- 
ful manner. 

“ Drive on, boys,” said O’Kelly, “ your master wishes you 
to catch up to him, before he reaches home. Drive on and 
make no delay.” 

“ Hurra !” shouted the driver, forcing his horse into a 
gallop, and making the wheels spin round with a velocity 
that promised a speedy overtaking of the chaise. 

u That must be 4 The Man of Feeling,’ ” said O’Kelly, 
pointing to the sleeper, as the car passed on. 

“I would not be surprised if Billy Warburton was right, 
and that whiskey had some effect on his sensitive mind. 
Did any one ever hear of so whimsical and ridiculous an idea 
as this one of Warburton’s, for reforming his proteges.” 

“ There are nearly as ridiculous model reformatory sys- 
tems adopted every other day,” replied Henry, “ and War- 
burton’s, had one honest advantage over the others, that he 
asks no one to pay for it but himself. Let us trot on, An- 
thony, I am anxious to get home.” 

They had proceeded for about a quarter of a mile, when, 
on coming to a turn in the road, they perceived a y'oung 
lad some short distance before them. It was evident, from 
his wearied, tottering steps, that he was after along jour- 
ney. He carried his shoes in his hand, and when he came 
to grassy spots, on the side of the road, he commenced run- 
ning, as well as his failing strength would allow him. At 
the sound of horses’ steps behind him, he turned his head 
quickly, but, without pausing, continued on. 


326 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ But that it is scarcely possible,” remarked Henry Daly ; 
“I would say that was Edward Vaughan before us. Come 
on, Anthony. On my honor it is,” he continued, spurring 
his horse forward. “ Edward — Edward Vaughan — Edward, 
don’t you know me ?” 

“ God be praised,” said the boy, as he staggered forward 
and caught Henry’s hand, “ I would never have reached 
Dalystown before them.” 

“ Before whom ?” said Henry, springing from his horse. 
“ Who is in pursuit of you. What has happened, my poor 
boy ; you seem half dead ; but you have nothing now to fear, 
Edward, we will protect you.” 

“ Oh ! do not think of me,” replied the boy ; “ but ride on 
to Dalystown as fast as your horse can carry you, for my uncle 
and the sheriff, and the soldiers, are on their w~ay to make a 
seizure.” 

Henry staggered back against his horse, as if he had re- 
ceived a blow. 

“ Oh, God !” he exclaimed, “ this will kill my father.” 

M Come on, Henry,” said O’Kelly, “ we have not a moment 
to lose to be before them and have everything out of the 
way.” As he spoke he continued to advance. 

“ Stay, Anthony,” replied Henry, “ I cannot leave this boy 
here. Should his uncle come up with him he will nearly mur- 
der him, I feel assured.” 

“ Then bring him along with you,” said O’Kelly, galloping 
back, and jumping off his horse. “ Mount, Henry,” he con- 
tinued, and, as the latter did so, O’Kelly swung the boy up 
behind his friend. “ Hold hard there now, my fine little fel- 
low,” he said; then, vaulting into his saddle, he followed 
Henry, who had started forward the moment Edward was 
mounted. 

u Keep your arms well about me, Edward,” said Henry, 
“ tell me all about this. Could you be mistaken ?” 

“ No, no,” replied the boy ; “I would have been with you 
two days ago, but that my uncle kept me locked up. Only 
the sheriff had to remain until the commission closed, they 
would have been at Dalystown on yesterday.” 

“ Go on — go on, Edward, tell me all.” , 

“ My uncle,” continued the boy, “ thought at first to con- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


327 


ceal from me what he was going to do, but he found out that 
I knew he was going to bring the sheriff to Dalystown. He 
beat me and swore he would kill me if I attempted to give 
you any information ; but I did not care for that, and went 
to the coach office to ask the agent would he carry me, and 
that I would pay when I got to Dalystown. He refused. I 
then determined to see the coachman, before he left in the 
morning, and to send word by him. But one of my uncle’s 
bailiffs had dogged me to the office, and when I returned 
home I was cruelly beaten by my uncle and locked into a 
back room that had iron bars on the outside of the window. 
I thought my heart would break, thinking of you, and expect- 
ing every moment to hear that my uncle had set out with the 
sheriff.” 

“ Go on — go on, Edward,” said Henry, pressing the boy’s 
hand. 

“ How did you escape ?” asked O’Kellv. 

“ Yesterday,” he replied, “ my uncle dined out, and came 
home, at night, drunk. He came up to the room I was in 
and the first thing he did was to beat me. He then sat 
down and commenced telling me that this morning he was 
to set out for Dalystowm, with the sheriff. He asked me had 
I any commands for myifriends there, but said that I need 
not expect any presents from them, as by that time to mor- 
row he would have all belonging to them under seizure. I 
would have shot him then, I think, if I had a pistol. As it 
was, I would have torn him with my teeth, when he seized 
me a second time, to beat me, but that the thought struck 
me, as he was drunk he might forget to lock the door on his 
going out, and I knew if I aggravated him he would tie me. 
I was right. He did forget to lock the door, and when he 
went to bed I stole down stairs and out of the house. I am 
coming all night. I missed my way once, or I would have 
been here sooner.” 

“ My poor, good Edward,” said Henry. “ Anthony, An- 
thony, this will kill my father !” 

“No, no, Henry,” replied O’Kelly; “ Cuff, the sheriff, is a 
decent fellbw enough. If we are in time to get everything 
out of the way so that there will be nothing to seize, he will 
make no fuss but just wheel about and return. Js not your 
father keeping his room ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTO WTL 


§28 


“ Yes,” replied Henry, “ and we may yet prevent his 
knowing anything of this business. But we were lost, Ed- 
ward, but for you. Let us hurry on, Anthony, for God’s sake.” 

Half an hour’s hard riding brought them to where the 
lands of Dalystown commenced, and within a short distance 
of the demesne. O’Kelly reined in. 

“ I will cross in here, Henry,” he said, “ and collect all 
the people I can get, in those villages beyond, to assist us. 
Do you keep the road. Go direct to the house ; have the doors 
locked, and also the yard gates.” 

He was turning into the fields, when Henry said : 

“ Anthony, above all things, caution the people to make 
no noise or disturbance. Just tell them the way my poor 
father is.” 

“ Do not fear, Henry,” he replied, “ I will keep them quiet. 
When we have got the cattle driven off, I will join you.” 

And leaping his horse over the wall that bounded the 
road, he galloped off in the direction of the villages he had 
alluded to. 

In the meantime, Henry kept on his way, and entered 
Dalystown by the avenue that led to the farmyard, at the 
rear of the house. Dismounting, he assisted Edward to do 
so. The boy’s wearied limbs had became so stiff that Henry 
had to lift him in his arms and carry him into the house. 
When they entered the kitchen, the servants there gave 
an exclamation of surprise, but Henry put up his hand to 
warn them to silence. 

“ Where is my sister,” he asked. 

“In the master’s room, sir,” replied a young housemaid. 

“ Go into the room, Jane, and let her know, by some 
sign, without my father’s perceiving you, that she is wanted 
out. When she is outside, whisper to her that I wish to 
see her in the parlor. Sit down here, Edward, at the fire, 
until I return.” 

The girl went up stairs, and Henry to the parlor ; pres- 
ently he heard his sister’s step upon the stairs and, in a mo- 
ment after, she entered the room. 

“ What has happened, Henry ?” she asked, “ I know by 
your countenance that something dreadful has happened.” 

“ No, my dear sister, nothing dreadful, but I have some- 
thing to tell. Is my father still in bed ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


329 


“Yes” 

“ Thank God for that ; I have had some bad news, Emily, 
but only connected with money matters. Did Jane tell 
you that Edward Vaughan was here ?” 

“Yes” 

“ Well, Emily, the poor boy has been walking all night ; 
he has come to warn us that his uncle, Lyons, intends to 
make a seizure here, one of these days; you know my 
father owes him some money.” 

“ Oh, Henry,” she exclaimed, while her very lips turned 
pale, “ lose not a moment ; go to Galway at once and see 
this man, tell him what papa is going to do ; tell him that 
we are going to give them up all, if they allow us but to 
bring him to some place where we will have peace.” 

“ Yes, dear Emily, but there is some danger that Lyons 
may come to-day.” 

“Henry,” she .exclaimed, as she sunk on a chair, and 
covered her eyes with her hands, “ he is coming to-day ; I 
know all now.” 

“Now that you do know the danger, Emily,” said her 
brother, stooping down and putting his hand round her waist, 
“ should this man come, think you you will have strength 
to assist me in concealing, his presence from my father?” 

“ God will give me strength, Henry,” she replied, taking 
down her hands and looking at her brother. 

“ You are my own brave little sister,” said Henry. “Lis- 
ten, love ; the front and back doors of the house must be 
locked when I go out. I will see that the same is done 
with the yard and haggart gates. Anthony O’Kelly, who 
came home with me, has gone to get the cattle driven olf 
the lands. He and I will meet the sheriff, and show him 
that we have been apprized of his coming, and that he can 
make no seizure. Neither O’Kelly or myself have any 
doubt but that Cuff, who is a gentleman, will turn back at 
once, without making any needless disturbance. But your 
part, Emily, is the hardest of all. Do you think you would 
have strength to remain in my father’s room, to chat to him, 
to keep his mind engaged; do you think you could do this 
while your own is racked by the agony of suspense ? Oh ! 
my sister, I am asking you to do that which I myself would 
not have strength to perform.” 


330 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“I will endeavor to doit, Henry,” she replied. u If I 
depended on myself, I would, indeed, fail ; go Henry, go at 
once, and do as you say. Even now they may be approach- 
ing the house ; go, go, dear brother, we are in the hands of 
God.” 

“ True, my sister,” he replied, as he led her from the room 
to the foot of the stairs, and in His holy keeping I leave 
you.” 

“ She ascended the stairs, but paused on the first landing 
with her hand resting on the balustrade. Oh, poor father,” 
she murmured, as she looked towards the room she was 
about to enter, then without looking back, or again paus- 
ing, she ascended the remaining flight of stairs, and, open- 
ing the door, passed in. 

Henry now returned to the kitchen, where he had left 
Edward, and told the latter that he was going out, and 
wished him to remain in the house until 4 his return. He 
then turned to the wondering servants and said, while a 
blush of shame came to his face, “ after I leave the house, 
you will lock both the front and back doors ; you are not 
to open them to any person until I knock ; on no account 
make any noise or disturbance, whatever you may see 
going on outside. Your master’s life depends, perhaps, 
upon your keeping the house quiet. Let no one go near 
my father’s room, unless his bell rings ; if it does, you will 
answer it, Mary. Edward, you will see that my directions 
are attended to, but, indeed, I know I have said sufficient 
to put you all on your guard.” 

As he was about to quit the kitchen, he stopped and turn- 
ed round. “ My poor fellow,” he said, “ I was near forget- 
ting you. Mary, get Mr. Edward some refreshment, at 
once ; he has been walking all last night and to-day.” 

He then left the house. In the yard he found some work- 
men and servants, amongst whom was the steward. The lat- 
ter went up to him and asked, “ if anything wrong had hap- 
pened.” 

“ I have just heard, Simon,” replied his young master, 
“ that the sheriff 1 is coming here to-day.” 

* c The sheriff, Mr. Henry, what does he want here ?” 

“ I have not time now, Simon, to tell anything more of the 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWtf 


331 


matter. Get everything in and about the yard locked up, 
and let the gatA be closed and locked. My men,’' he con* 
tinued to those who had crowded around him, “ do this as 
quickly and noiselessly as you can. Your master’s life de- 
pends upon his knowing nothing of what may happen here 
to-day.” 

u By the hole of my coat, Mr. Henry,” said a big fellow, 
stepping forward, u af you’ll let us, we”ll meet them on the 
road and knock them into smithereens.” 

“ Ho, no,” replied Henry, “ I tell you there must be no 
fighting, no noise. Even if I was mad enough to allow you 
to attempt such a thing, you could not succeed in stopping 
them, as they are bringing a party of soldiers with them.” 

“ Hadn’t some of us, sir, better go and drive off the stock ?” 

“ Mr. Anthony O’Kelly has gone to collect people to do 
so. Shut the gate after me and remain here in the yard. 
For the love you have for your old master, I ask you, that 
no matter who or what you see, you remain where you are, 
and keep as quiet as possible.” 

The men promised to obey him, and it was no slight evi- 
dence of their attachment, that they kept their word. 

When Henry arrived at the front of the house, he saw 
O’Kelly galloping towards him, and when the latter came 
up, he announced that the cattle were, by this time, nearly 
all housed. 

“ The people,” he said, “ are collecting at the front en- 
trance. I had much to do to keep them from setting out 
to meet the sheriff and his party, to oppose their further 
advance ; telling them that the sheriffhad a party of soldiers 
with him, seemed but to give them pluck, and James Delany 
called out that they would not fear all the soldiers in Gal- 
way, in such a cause. You must come down, Henry, and 
speak to them, or I fear there may be ugly work.” 

“ Leave your horse in the yard, Anthony, and we will go 
down together. Perhaps, after all,” continued Henry, when 
his friend again joined him, “ Edward may be mistaken. 
My father was never served with any law paper.” 

“ That makes no difference,” replied O’Kelly, w such fel- 
lows as Lyons, get men every day to swear that they served 
people, whom they never saw ; you can, to be sure, indict 
21 


332 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWtf. 


them for perjury, but they run the risk of your doing so for 
an additional fee. See, Henry, the crouhl is increasing 
every moment, and they are becoming excited. By George 
I fear that the enemy is in sight. Let us hurry on.” 

Both gentlemen quickened their pace, and by the time 
they reached the front entrance, a party of dragoons were 
in sight, coming down the road, which here ran in a straight 
line for about half a mile, so that when first seen, the sol- 
diers were some distance off. When Henry Daly appeared, 
James Delany, who had evidently become the leader of the 
country people collected at the gpte, went up to him. 

“ Mr. Henry,” he said, “ do you and Mr. Anthony, return 
to the house, and leave us to manage those coming on.” 

u Silence,” replied Henry, “ and hear me. The man who 
raises his hand or voice here to-day, is my enemy for life. 
My father is sick, confined to his bed, — is he to be told that 
blood has been shed at his gate ? If you remain quiet all 
will pass off well. James Delany, I will look to you, that 
you allow no disturbance.” 

“ We will be bidden by you, sir,” replied Delany. “ Why 
not ” 

The party advancing were by this time near enough to 
allow Henry and O’Kelly to recognize the sheriff and Lyons, 
who, accompanied by a posse of bailiffs on foot, rode a lit- 
tle in advance of the soldiers. 

t; We are late, Mr. Lyons,” remarked the sheriff. “ They 
have been apprised of our coming, and, doubtless, have 
everything out of the way by this time.” 

The sheriff, a jolly-looking personage, made this remark 
in such a cheerful tone of voice, that it was quite evident 
the circumstance did not annoy him much. 

“ Yes,” replied Lyons, “ that cursed villain of the world 
has been before me. But if you had got up, Mr. Sheriff, 
two hours earlier, we would, I think, have been in time. 

“ I am not obliged to leave home, sir, before sunrise,” an- 
swered Mr. Cuff, “ and, to tell you the truth, the duty I am 
on at present is not a very pleasant one ; so I was in no un- 
necessary hurry to proceed with it. Few know Godlrey 
Daly, who do not respect him, and it is sad to witness the 
decline of an ancient family. However,” he continued, “ we 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


333 


are in time for a little fighting, for I do not expect those 
fellows yonder will allow us to leave without giving some 
token of their regard.” 

u Mr. Sheriff,” replied Lyons, “ I am under^your protection, 
and that of the military.” 

The latter consisted of about thirty men, under the com- 
mand of an officer. 

“ Oh, my dear fellow,” answered the sheriff, laughing, “ we 
will protect you, that is, so far as w r e are able to protect 
ourselves ; but, should a stone be sent whizzing in the di- 
rection of your head, I don’t undertake to stop it.” 

u We had better speak to the officer in command, sir,” 
said Lyons, who did not enjoy the other’s bantering tone. 

“ The sheriff*, sir,” he continued, addressing the officer, 
tc thinks it probable that we may be attacked by those peo- 
ple in front of us ; I hope you have your men prepared.” 

“ You will be good enough, my fine fellow, to give your- 
self no trouble about my men. I am here to protect the 
sheriff and his bailiffs, and I suppose you come in with the 
latter.” 

u I am no bailiff, sir/’ said Lyons flushing up. “I am a 
solicitor, sir.” 

The officer fixed his eye glass in his eye, surveyed Lyons 
from head to foot, and then, raising his eyebrows, let the 
glass drop. 

“ You are the fellow, I think,” he said, “ who was pointed 
out to me as having this — what do you call it ? Execution, 
is it not ? The whole thing is a cursed bore. Mr. Sheriff*,, 
do you wish me to charge?” 

“ Not exactly, Cornet Fortescue,” replied the sheriff, again 
laughing. “ I see both young Mr. Daly and Mr. O’Kelly in 
the crowd, and here comes the latter towards us.” 

“ So it is,” said the officer. “ Upon my soul it is too bad, 
I really am ashamed to be seen in such company. Excuse 
me Mr. Sheriff, I don’t mean you.” 

u How do you do, Cuff,” said O’Kelly, advancing and shak- 
ing hands with the sheriff. “ Ah, Fortescue, is that you? 
How are you. At length your young valor has found a 
glorious field.” 

“ Oh ! for heaven’s sake do not banter me, O’Kelly ; my 


334 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


cup is filled to overflowing. Pray introduce me at once to 
your friend, Daly, that I may make all suitable apology to 
him.” 

“ In one moment, Fortescue,” replied O’Kelly. “ May I 
speak with you, Cuff?” 

66 Of course,” replied the sheriff, turning to one side with 
him. 

“ You see,” commenced O’Kelly, “ that we have been ap- 
prized of your coming. Everything is safe under lock and 
key.” 

“I am glad to hear it, I assure you, Mr. O’Kelly, I never 
was engaged in a more unpleasant duty than the one I came 
on here to-day.” 

“ You are a trump, Cuff.” 

“ But where is Mr. Daly?” asked the sheriff. 

“ That is what I want to speak to you about, Cuff. He is 
in bed, sick ; did he know of your visit, God only knows 
what the consequences would be. Now, will you ascertain 
quietly, for yourself, that there is nothing on which this 
shark Lyons can levy his execution, and then retire ?” 

“ I will,” replied Mr. Cuff, “ I will call Lyons over and 
speak to him.” 

“ Wait until I move off, for if he comes within reach of 
my arm, I will, most assuredly, have to knock him down.” 
So saying, he went over to where Cornet Fortescue sat on 
his horse. 

“ Well, O’Kelly,” exclaimed the latter, “ I hope you have 
arranged this business. ’Pon my soul it is enough to make 
a fellow retire from the service, to be sent on such duty.” 

“ Oh, you will get accustomed to it, Fortescue, when you 
are a little time amongst us, and Connaught has some pleas- 
ant places to be quartered in.” 

“Deuced pleasant. You are about the gayest set of fel- 
lows I have ever met with; but it is confoundedly stupid 
of you to be always getting in debt in this way.” 

“ It is not our fault, Fortescue. It’s an epidemic in the 
air, very taking, I assure you. I have known several young 
fellows of your profession seized with it and by it too, faith, 
shortly after their arrival in the country, and obliged to sell 
out in consequence.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 335 

Lyons’ voice was here heard, in angry remonstrance with 
the sheriff. 

“ We will, at all events, go up to the house,” he said, in 
answer to some remark of the latter’s, “ and I call upon you, 
sir, to do your duty.” 

“ As you will,” replied Mr. Cuff, “ but will it not be suf- 
ficient that you and I go up, leaving these others here. 
Remember that Mr. Daly is ill.” 

“Ill, be d d,” said Lyons, “that’s all a sham. I’ll not 

risk my life by going up without the military.” 

The party had by this time advanced to the gate, where 
Henry Daly stood. The sheriff, dismounting, went up to 
him. 

“I regret very much, Mr. Daly,” he said, “having been 
obliged to come on so unpleasant a duty, especially now, as 
Mr. O’Kelly has informed me that your father is ill.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Henry, “ he is confined to his bed, 
perhaps never to rise from it, if your presence here becomes 
known to him.” 

“I have been saying something like this to Mr. Lyons,” 
replied the sheriff, but he insists on going up to the house. 
I proposed that we two only should go, but he fears to stir, 
without the escort. I have no alternative, Mr. Daly, but 
to comply with his wishes.” 

“ Very well, sir. Of course, I know you must do your 
duty ; but, before you proceed, let me speak to this man a 
moment.” Henry then went up to Lyons. 

“ You are about bringing your party up to the house,” he 
said, “ although you must know that unless to gratify dis- 
appointed malice, it is useless to do so. Well, you have 
the right, and I make no resistance, but mark me ; if you, 
or any of these fellows under you, make an. unnecessary 
noise, likely to be heard by my father, I declare, by the 
living God, that I will tear you limb from limb, had you 
twice the escort you have to guard you.” 

He then turned to where the officer stood. 

“ Cornet Fortescue, Mr Daly,” said O’Kelly. 

“I deem myself fortunate, sir,” said Henry, “to have a 
gentleman to address. I have no doubt but that you will 
direct your men to make as little noise as possible while 


336 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


proceeding to the house. Doubtless, my friend O’Kelly, 
has already informed you of my father’s illness. Indeed, 
I feel assured, he continued, raising his voice, “ that those 
line fellows under your command, will, of themselves, com- 
ply with the favor I ask.” 

“ Mr. Daly,” replied Cornet Fortescue, “ I am but too 
happy to have even so slight an opportunity of showing 
how entirely I sympathise with you. Do you hear, lads,” 
he continued, turning towards the men, “ keep your horses 
in on the grass as you advance, and hold your scabbards, 
so that they will not clash.” 

“ Dinna fear, young gentleman,” said a Scotch sergeant, 
addressing Henry, “ we’ll na disturb the sick.” 

Then aside to one of his comrades, “I would gie a piece 
o’ siller mysel’ that chiel of an attorney was in the Clyde, 
with a braw stone round his neck.” 

“We had better proceed,” said the sheriff, “the sooner 
this unpleasant business is over the better.” 

As they advanced up the avenue, Henry’s eyes were con- 
tinually directed to the windows of his father’s room. It 
would be impossible to express the agony of his mind dur- 
ing those moments. As they drew near the house he thought 
he saw his sister standing at one of the windows beckon- 
ing to him ; he was about to run forward, when he perceived 
that it was but the curtains of the window that had stirred. 
What a relief it would be to him, he thought, could he but 
look into that room for a moment. Emily, no doubt, was 
watching their approach, and using all her little endearing 
arts to conceal it from her father. What a trial for the young 
girl, endeavoring, at that moment, perhaps, to smile, to laugh, 
while her poor heart was throbbing with anxiety, fear and 
grief. 

“ It is unnecessary, Cornet Fortescue,” said the sheriff, 
“ that your men should advance any nearer to the house. I 
will go forward, and if I cannot obtain admission we will 
return as we came.” 

“ Do you mean to say,” said Lyons, “ that you will not 
remain any time about th% place ? If the bailiffs are prop- 
erly placed,” he continued, lowering his voice, “ they will 
get in before night ; some one must pass in or out, especially 
if the old man is sick.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


337 


The sherifflooked at him. u Well, Mr. Lyons,” he. said, “ I 
thought I was case-hardened enough, but I’m only a tender- 
hearted baby to you. You have already a specialty from 
me, so you and your bailiffs may remain as long as you 
please, but as for my doing so, I’d see you particularly well 
d — d first.” 

u It is your duty, sir,” said Lyons, “ to use every exertion 
to make a seizure.” 

“ 1 know my duty, Mr. Lyons, and also who I have to deal 
with ; if you find me tripping you will be in luck. Come 
on, sir, and watch.” 

“ Why,” said Lyons, hesitating to advance, “ there are a 
party of men up at the house, beside those who have been 
dogging our steps from the gate.” 

This was true enough, for the men who had been in the 
yard, after closing the gate, had climbed over it and were 
now grouped around the hall door. 

“ Sir,” replied Mr. Cuff, “Mr. Henry Daly’s presence is 
quite sufficient security for me, and I have taken the respon- 
sibility to order the military not to advance any further. 
Now stay where you are, or come along with me, just as 
you please; the whole thing has turned into a malicious 
farce.” 

Without further objection Lyons advanced with the sheriff, 
nob indeed, that he now expected to be able to make any 
seizure, but that he hoped, by watching Mr. Cuff, he might 
be able to catch him failing in some part of his duty, in 
which case he could make him responsible for the debt. 

When Mr. Cuff arrived at the hall-door, he knocked very 
gently, and demanded admittance. He was answered from 
the inside that the door would not be opened. Lyons 
gnashed his teeth, for he recognized Edward Vaughan’s 
voice, but Henry Daly stood besides him, and he feared to 
vent his rage. 

“That’s my nephew’s voice,” he said to the sheriff, “ the 
scoundrel who betrayed me. He is my ward, I demand 
that he be given up to me.” 

“ You must fetch him through the keyhole then,” replied 
the sheriff, turning on his heel, and, after placing his hand 
against the yard gate, to ascertain if it was locked, he re- 


338 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

ilSSEKy 

turned to where he had left the military, of course accom- 
panied by the discomfited Lyons. 

“We will now return, Cornet Fortescue,” said Mr. Cuff, 
addressing the officer, “ we have no further business here. 
I suppose you will halt at T , to-night ?” 

“ Yes.” 

For the first time, in, what appeared to him many hours, 
Henry Daly breathed freely. To use a homely phrase, “ a 
load was raised from his heart.” 

“This is the first time, sir,” he said, addressing the officer, 
“ that a gentleman has entered Dalystown, without being 
asked to partake of its poor hospitality ; “ you and your men, 
must be sadly in want of refreshment.” 

“ My dear Mr. Daly,” replied Cornet Fortescue, “ pray do 
not distress yourself by making or thinking of any apology. 
This has, indeed, been a forced march to me, in every sense 
of the word; the best thing we can do now, is to rid you 
of our presence as quickly as possible, but I trust to re- 
new your acquaintance under happier auspices.” 

“Mr. Cuff, too,” said Henry, taking the sheriff by the 
hand, “ I have to thank for his most gentlemanly consider- 
ation. Believe me, sir, I feel truly grateful for the more 
than kind manner in which you have performed your 
duty.” 

“ I told you,” said O’Kelly, <c that he was a trump. If 
ever a sheriff makes an entry in heaven, he will ; but by 
George, Cuff, you must look out and keep better company 
when you are going there or you will find the doors 
locked.” 

O’Kelly, as he spoke, looked full at Lyons, but he re- 
sented not the implied insult. 

I believe I have mentioned somewhere before, that it 
was a leading trait in his meek nature never openly to re- 
sent an insult nor ever to forget one. 

But, alas ! it was fated that Tom Gallaher, who would 
have freely shed every drop of blood in his simple, faithful 
heart, to save his master from one hour’s pain, should 
bring about the catastrophe Henry Daly so much dreaded. 

Tom, like most half-witted persons, although shrewd, and 
often humorous in his remarks, and capable of performing, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


339 


with punctual fidelity, light tasks, which habit had made a 
second nature to him, was, nevertheless, outside of those, 
both stupid and foolish. He had been in a distant part of 
the demesne, exercising Beeswing, (Emily Daly’s mare,) 
and as he returned home across the fields, he remarked the 
crowd collected in the park. Knowing that there was a 
hunt in the neighborhood, the red coats of the dragoons 
caused him to mistake them for huntsmen, and concluding 
that the fox had run to Dalystown, he gave Beeswing her 
head, and advanced at full speed. In vain, as he entered 
upon the park, was he called to and warned not to advance. 
There was a strong wind blowing, and Tom, with his head 
down, neither heard or saw anything until, dashing up to 
the crowd, he found his rein seized by two bailiffs. Tom 
was in the hands of the Philistines. 

Henry Daly, longing to relieve his poor sister, by bring- 
ing to her the glad tidings that Lyons and his party had 
taken their departure, was at this time on his way to the 
house, accompanied by O’Kelly. Hearing the noise behind 
them, they turned round just as the bailiffs had made their 
seizure. Both gentlemen hurried back ; Henry, with the 
intention of giving up the mare quietly. 

But, when too late, Tom discovered the mistake he had 
made, and endeavored to rectify it. Spurring forward, he 
applied his whip furiously to the heads and shoulders of the 
bailiffs, yelling forth, as he did so, a torrent of curses against 
them. In a moment, the mare had carried him and the two 
men, who still clung to the rein, in the direction of the 
house, and opposite4o Mr. Daly’s bedroom windows, but a 
little' out of the line Henry and Anthony had taken. 

At this moment, Doctor Kelly was seen advancing up the 
avenue at a furious pace. The country people too, no 
longer sullen and silent, bnt wild with excitement, went 
rushing forward. Henry Daly had come to within ten yards 
of Tom Gallaher, when a sudden crashing of glass made 
him look up. Staggering back against O’Kelly, he caught 
the arm of the latter and pointed, in silent horror and grief, 
to his father’s window. At the open window stood God- 
frey Daly, a loose dressing gown thrown around his person, 
his white hair tossing in the wind, his lips compressed, and 
his eyes literally emitting bright sparks, as they ever did, 


340 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


when he was terribly excited. His face was deadly pale, 
and in his outstretched hands were a brace of pistols, point- 
ed at the men with whom Tom Gallaher was still struggling. 
His daughters arms were around his waist, and her head 
bent down to his knees. So motionless was her form, that 
those outside supposed that she had swooned, in the position 
in which they now saw her. 

Despite all the poor girls fortitude and self-command, 
her father had remarked a nervous excitement in her man- 
ner, after she returned to his room from her interview with 
Henry. He observed, too, how anxiously she looked from 
the window at times, when she thought he was not noticing 
her ; but when he proposed to get up, she turned round 
with such a look of affright on her face, that left no doubt 
on his mind but that something had occurred which she 
wished to conceal from him. Yet, so tenderly did he love 
her, even with the same gentle, forbearing love he had be- 
stowed upon her childhood, that he remained quiet, and 
forbore from questioning her^ rather than give her pain, or 
let her see that her little arts had failed to deceive him. 
But when the struggle commenced between Tom Gallaher 
and the bailiffs, a slight scream, of which she herself was 
unconscious, escaped Emily’s lips, at the same time that the 
angry voices of men were heard approaching the house. 

Throwing his dressing gown around him, and springing 
from the bed, Mr. Daly reached the window, to realize, at a 
glance, the nature of the scene before him. To hasten to 
the table where his pistols lay, and return to the window, 
was but the work of a moment. With one blow he shiver- 
ed the glass and frame. 

“ Villains,” exclaimed Godfrey Daly, in a voice so stern 
that it fell strange and unfamiliar on Henry’s ear, “ vil- 
lains, loosen your holds ; let go, I say, or by my honor, this 
moment is your last.” 

The voice, the attitude, were not to be trifled with ; the 
men dropped their hands from the rein, and Tom, thinking 
he had achieved a triumph, gave a “ view halloa,” and darted 
forward. In a moment afterwards, Godfrey Daly was seen 
to stagger from the window, endeavoring, as he did so, to 
raise the senseless form of his child. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


•341 


Regardless of everything now, but to reach his father, 
Henry rushed to the hall door, and, coming with his whole 
weight against it, drove it in, and entered the house. He 
was at once followed by O’Kelly and the doctor. 

Lyons, seeing the door open, called upon the sheriff to do 
his duty ; but Anthony O’Kellv, seizing the doctor by the 
arm, drew him in, and was in the act of shutting the door 
against the bailiffs, who were advancing, when Doctor Kelly 
said : 

“ You need not, Anthony ; go and bring Cuff into the 
parlor, and wait for me there. Tell him I will settle the 
execution. I came to do so ; God-send that I am not too late.” 

And the old man hurried after Henry. 

“D — n me,” said O’Kelly, “if these fellows shall have the 

tisfaction to say that they got into the house,” and with 
one shove he sent three of the men, who had reached the 
door-steps, tumbling back. Just then the sheriff arrived at 
the hall door, and Anthony delivered to him the doctor’s 
message. 

“ That is quite sufficient,” replied Mr. Cuff. “ I will go 
into the house with you. You have nothing more to do,” he 
said, turning to the bailiffs. “ The matter is arranged.” 

When Doctor Kelly reached Mr. Daly’s room lie found 
the latter in the arms of his son, while near the window were 
two girls, supporting the senseless form of Emily, and en- 
deavoring to restore her to consciousness. 

“ Carry her to her room, Mary,” said the doctor, glancing 
for a moment at her as he passed on to Mr. Daly, “ and loosen 
her dress. Send help here. Godfrey, Godfrey ; what has 
happened to you ?” 

But Mr. Daly replied not. Though his eyes were open 
and moving, their intelligence was gone, and his mouth was 
slightly drawn to one side. 

“Oh ! doctor,” exclaimed Henry, “they have killed my 
father.” 

For a moment the old doctor’s presence of mind seemed 
to forsake him, and his face became as pale as his upon whom 
he gazed ; but this weakness quickly passed away. 

“ Lay him on the bed, Henry,” he said, in a rapid voice. 
“Quick, go for the box you will find in my gig, and bring 
some of the servants back with you.” 


342 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


For an hour the doctor remained at the bedside of his 
friend, doing all that medical skill could suggest, while, on 
the opposite side, stood Emily and Henry, bending over their 
father, in that deep grief that has no voice. At length the 
doctor felt the weak pulse grow stronger ; the tightness 
about the mouth relaxed and consciousness seemed return- 
ing to the eyes. 

“ He is recovering from the fit,” whispered the doctor. 

“ Oh! God be praised,” exclaimed Emily, sinking her head 
upon the bed, while tears came to her relief. “ I will hear 
his beloved voice once more.” 

“ Yes,” replied the doctor, addressing both her and Henry, 
“ he is recovering, but you must not be alarmed if you find 
his mind wandering at first. He has had a very severe fit.” 

Mr. Daly gave a deep sigh, and a look of recognition came 
to his eyes as he fixed them upon the doctor’s face. The 
latter bent down. 

“ How do you feel now, Godfrey ?” e said. 

Mr. Daly’s lips moved, as he endeavored to speak. 

“ Don’t distress yourself, Godfrey, by trying to answer,” 
said the doctor, “until your strength returns. You will be 
well by-and-by.” 

Again his lips moved, and, after a little, he spoke ; but, 
oh God ! in a voice so thick and altered that the words fell 
like molten lead upon the he^'ts of his children. 

“I shot the villain, James, did I not, that was taking my 
child’s horse ?” 

Doctor Kelly pressed his hand. “ Compose yourself, God- 
frey,” he said; “ Henry, bring me that glass. Here, God- 
frey, take these few drops, they will do you good. That is 
right ; close your eyes now and you will sleep.” 

In some minutes after Mr. Daly fell into a deep sleep, 
and the doctor, moving from the side of the bed, beckoned 
Emily and Henry to him. 

“ It is as I expected,” he said, “ his mind is unsettled ; but 
that, in itself, need not alarm you. He is not likely to awake 
now, for some hours, after the composing draught he has 
taken ; but I feel confident when he does, he will be quite 
collected. I must go down to those people, Henry, but do 
you not stir from this room.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 343 

K Ah !” said Henry, « I had forgotten them ; are they in 
the house ?” 

“ The sheriff is, I suppose. I told Anthony to admit him. 
I will arrange this business. Stay, Henry, this is no time to 
speak. I came as fast as I could when this news reached 
me, by chance ; but I have been too late to save my poor 
friend from this terrible shock. Emily, my love, you must 
promise to keep Henry here until I return. Oh ! my child, 
try to keep up, and put your trust in God.” 

“ Doctor,” said Henry, “ if I remain, do you promise, that 
you will see Lyons is not admitted into my father’s house.” 

“ If he enters, Henry, I will drive him forth with my own 
hand.” 

As the doctor moved to the door, it was noiselessly 
opened, and Edward Vaughan stood in the doorway. Doc- 
tor Kelly seemed surprised, and looked at Henry. 

“He came,” said the latter, “ to give us warning. He 
has been traveling all night on foot, from Galway, and he 
was in time, but for this unlucky accident.” 

“ Come in, Edward,” said the doctor, “ I am glad to see 
you ; glad to find that I have not been disappointed in the 
good opinion I formed of you. You will sit with them, Ed- 
ward, while I am away. Remember, Henry, I have your 
promise that you will not stir from this room until my re- 
turn.” 

Anthony O’Kelly, to whom word had been brought from 
time to time, as to Mr. Daly’s state, rightly judged that the 
family would expect of him, in their absence, that he would 
see to having refreshments provided, not alone for the 
sheriff and officers, but likewise for the party of soldiers. 
Cornet Fortescue had, on his invitation, entered the house, 
shortly after the sheriff, leaving his men in charge of the 
sergeant, with instruction to have him called if any distur- 
bance should occur between the country people and the 
bailiffs, though none was apprehended. Lyons had sneaked 
into the house, and O’Kelly did not interfere with him, 
fearing to cause the slightest noise. It may seem strange 
that, under the circumstances, O’Kelly should have deemed 
* it necessary to offer refreshment to any of the party, but, 
under no circumstances, is the virtue of hospitality ever 


344 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


overlooked in Ireland, and it is found in the house of mourn- 
ing, equally as in the house of joy. 

By O’Kelly’s directions, two barrels of beer were rolled 
into the yard ; a most acceptable sight to the soldiers, after 
their long march, who, dismounting from their horses, and 
supplied by the servants wiih various kinds of drinking 
vessels, commenced to drink, smoke and laugh; but, to 
their credit be it said, they were not noisy in their rude 
mirth, having been informed of the serious illness of the 
master of the house. 

“We’ll drink, my lads,” said the sergeant, a speedy re- 
covery to the poor sick gentleman and confusion to a’ 
lawyers. 

Matters thus stood in and about the house when Doctor 
Kelly entered the parlor. He shook hands with the sheriff 
and saluted young Fortescue, but Lyons, sitting at the far- 
ther end of the 100m, and partially concealed by the window 
curtains, he did not perceive. 

“ How is Mr. Daly now, doctor ?” asked the sheriff. 

“ Poorly, Cuff, poorly,” replied Dr. Kelly. “At present 
he sleeps ; but his race is nearly run, and his noble heart 
will soon be at rest.” 

“ I had no notion that he was so bad,” said the sheriff 
“ I thought, perhaps, that he had fallen into a long swoon, 
and one of the servants informed us that he was recovering 
from it.” 

“ He has had a stroke of paralysis, Cuff. Whether he 
will partially recover from it, for a while, it is hard to say, 
and scarcely to be wished for. Who would ask to see that 
clear, generous mind clouded ; that manly form a weary 
burthen? My God,” he continued, seemingly communing 
with his own thoughts. “I have had many trials. I have 
seen the young, the good, the loving ; they who never gave 
my heart one grief, but that of parting with them, — I have 
seen them taken from me, in the morning of their lives ; and 
now, the last and best beloved friend of my youth,” — he 
paused and then added : “ I am very old, and if it was Thy 

will, I too, would be at rest.” 

The old man’s grief was so solemn and sacred, that none • 
present thought of breaking in upon it with the customary 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


345 


words of consolation ; but, after a little, he aroused himself 
to attend to that which brought him into their presence. 

“ How much is this execution for, Cuff ?” he asked of the 
sheriff. “ O’Kelly told you, did he not, that I would settle 
it?” 

“ Yes,” replied the sheriff, “ I wish you had been here an 
hour earlier. The amount is, let me see.” 

He pulled out his pocket-book, but before he could open 
it, Lyons stepped forward. 

“ The amount, my dear sir,” said the latter, “ is six hundred 
and thirty-three pounds, four shillings and six pence. I 
assure you, Doctor Kelly, that ” 

But the old man sprung to his legs as he exclaimed : 

“Who allowed this man into the house? What brought 
you here? How dare you, sir, enter these doors?” 

Lyons had started back, when the doctor first opened at 
him, but recovering himself, he answered sulkily, “ I have a 
right to be here.” 

“ You lie, you scoundrel,” replied the old man. 

“ I have, until the execution is settled.” 

“ Here, Cuff,” said the doctor, turning to the sheriff, “ take 
this pocket-book. There are eight hundred pounds in it ; 
count them, and pay yourself. Are you satisfied?” 

“ I would be willing to take your word for five times the 
amount,” said the sheriff. “ Here is the execution.” 

The doctor took it, and throwing it upon the fire, stamped 
upon it with his heel. He then turned to Lyons. 

“Leave this room, this house, at once,” he said. “Your 
presence would pollute a dog-kennel.” 

“ But,” said Lyons, attempting to speak, 

“Not a word,” said the old man, advancing towards him. 
“ Leave at once ; or, if I am too old to drive you hence, I 
will call those who will do so. But I think I am strong 
enough yet, to kick a scoundrel like you.” 

As he advanced, Lyons retreated ; and when the latter 
reached the door, he opened it, and fairly bolted. The doc- 
tor banged the door after him. 

“ Faugh,” he said. “ The presence of the hateful, sneak- 
ing villain would stifle me. 

Now, Cuff, give raea receipt, lam in a hurry to return 


346 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWtf. 


to my friend’s room. You will excuse me, young gen- 
tleman, for my rudeness,” he added, addressing Cornet 
Fortescue. 

“ Don’t mention it, doctor,” replied Fortescue, “you did 
quite right, and egad, I would have been half inclined to 
help you if it was necessary.” 

“ Here is your pocket-book, doctor,” said the sheriff, “ you 
can be counting the money while I am writing out a re- 
ceipt.” 

When Lyons found himself in the hall, he stood irreso- 
lute, not knowing where to go, for he by no means relished 
the idea of leaving the house without the protection of the 
sheriff or officer. At this moment, Edward, who had been 
sent of a message, came running down stairs, and did not 
see his uncle until his foot was upon the last step. 

Lyons darted forward and caught the boy by the collar. 

“Hal” he exclaimed, in tones of triumph, “I have you 
you traitor. Come along with me; I have an account to 
settle with you. Oh, wait until I get you home !” 

“ Let me out,” cried Edward, struggling, “ I will not go 
with you ; let me out, there are those near that will make 
you do so, if I call upon them.” 

“You lie, you traitor,” hissed Lyons, “ you devil’s whelp, 
you are mine, and no one dare interfere between us.” 

The words were but spoken when a powerful hand 
wheeled him round and Henry Daly, grasping him by the 
throat, exclaimed: 

“ Speak but in a whisper, and, by my hopes of heaven, I 
will strangle you on the spot. Open the door, Edward,” he 
continued, as he dragged Lyons forward ; then, using all his 
strength, he hurled him with such force from his hand that 
the attorney went spinning round, like a top, for some dis- 
tance, and then fell heavily on his face iqpon the gravel, in 
front of the house. 

The passion which Henry had so well mastered, for the 
last few hours, now had full sway ; the hot blood of his race 
mounted to his face, and the same bright sparks I have no- 
ticed as in Godfrey Daly’s eyes, flashed from his son’s. He 
leaped fonvard to where Lyons lay, expecting to see him 
rise, but the latter, at this moment, deemed discretion the 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 347 

better part of valor, so he merely rolled upon his back, call- 
ing loudly for help. 

Henry’s limbs quivered with rage, as he saw himself thus 
baffled by the cowardice of the man ; he spat in his face, as 
he exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! that you had the heart of a man, that I might tear 
it from your body.” 

But, though Henry Daly would not touch the fallen pol- 
troon, there were those who had no such generous forbear- 
ance. Delighted at the opportunity given to them by Henry’s 
violence, the country people rushed forward, and it would 
have gone hard with Lyons, but that, at the same moment, 
Doctor Kelly, the sheriff and Cornet Fortescue, hearing the 
noise, came running from the house and rescued him from 
the hands of the infuriated crowd ; not, however, before he 
received a deep cut in the head. 

“ Henry — Henry,” said Dr. Kelly, “ is this the way you 
have kept your promise to me ?” 

“ I could not help it, Dr. Kelly,” answered Henry. “ I 
found this fellow dragging his nephew out of the house, and 
threatening him with his vengeance when he should have 
him in his power. Was I to allow this, when it was in en- 
deavoring to save us the boy incurred his anger?” 

“He is my nephew,” said Lyons, as he wiped the blood 
from his face. “ I am his natural guardian. His parents 
left him in my charge.” 

“ And well you have fulfilled the trust,” replied Henry. 
“ But stay,” he continued, “ I have no time to w T aste with 
you. Come here, Edward.” 

The boy advanced from the door. 

“You see that man; you have heard what he said. Do 
you wish to go with him ?” 

“ No,” replied Edward, “ I will never return to him ; he 
would murder me if I did so ; he has no claim upon me.” 

“You hear him,” said Henry, addressing Lyons, “ now lis- 
ten to me. If he were willing to return with you, I would 
not allow it, for I feel assured you would murder him, as he 
ga y S — murder him by that slow torture which leaves no 
mark, and so cheat the hangman. I am lawyer enough to 
know that you have no legal claim upon him ; but, rather, 
22 


348 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


that you should he punished for the shameful way you have 
abused the trust confided to you by his parents, and, so 
help me God, Edward,” he continued, taking the boy’s hand, 
for the brave effort you have made this day in our behalf, 
you shall never want a home as long as Henry Daly has 
one to shelter him. Silence, sir,” he exclaimed, stamping 
his foot upon the ground, as Lyons attempted to speak, 
“ silence, I say, and leave thts place, at once, if you care for 
your safety.” 

Then bowing to the others, he entered the house, still 
holding Edward by the hand. 


CHAPTEE XXY. 

The rude intruders had departed, and the old place as- 
sumed its usual tranquil look, as the shades of evening fell 
around it. The plowman whistled as he returned from the 
tillage field ; the crows, from lofty trees, cawed to each other 
a welcome home, and the robin and thrush sang their mat- 
ins to the early spring. Anon, those sounds died away ; the 
sun went down, and twilight, its pale, melancholy sister, 
glided over the earth. Yet, the change of light was all un- 
noticed by her who sat at the bedside of Godfrey Daly. In 
the morning of her existence the night of sorrow had come 
to her, and the torch of hope, which her love had lighted, 
lay smoldering and dark at her feet. 

Many circumstances had tended to make Emily Daly, in 
her ideas and aspirations, differ fit>m the generality of girls 
of her age. She had never known a mother’s love, but its 
absence left no void in her heart ; nay, it may almost be 
said, that it was not absent, for the love of Godfrey Daly 


THE DALYSOF DALYSTOWN 


349 


for his fair child, was full of gentle, womanly tenderness. 
His voice it was that sang the lullaby which closed her in- 
fant eyes. The same hand with which he had so softly 
smoothed the bright curls of his little darling, as she nestled 
in his breast, in after years supported her with manly 
strength, when she took her first lessons in equestrian exer- 
cise ; and it seemed, to the young girl, something beautiful 
to dwell upon and compare those two loves, as it were to 
listen to the sweet, endearing tones of his voice and to gaze 
upon his tall, manly form, so fitted by nature to protect her 
weakness. 

No wonder, then, that she should return this two-fold 
love with corresponding affection, and that a love, great 
enough for two parents, was all his. Her virgin heart had 
never known another, to clash with this one ; none, that, 
like a torrent, might have swept over its calm, placid beauty. 
The love of sister and brother were two pure streams, meet- 
ing in gentle harmony, uniting and flowing in augmented 
strength to their parent’s heart. 

It was sad that love like this, which angels might have 
owned to, could not ward off the sorrow which crushed that 
heart; it was frenzy to feel how great and mighty it was, in 
its truth, and yet how weak and powerless to defend its 
idol ; it was agony, deep agony, to think that had a little 
time been given them to have put yesterday’s plans into 
execution — how bright that yesterday appeared now — they 
might have saved him. 

Such thoughts passed through the mind of the young girl, 
as she watched over her father’s uneasy sleep. For min- 
utes she would gaze upon his face, noting the expression 
that had fixed about his mouth, so like, and yet so unlike a 
smile, until, no longer able to bear such mocking agony, 
she would cover her face with her hands, again to remove 
them, again to peer forward, and see by the fitful, gloomy 
twilight, that unreal, rigid smile upon the worn features of 
him, whom, above all others, she loved. 

Poor child, her first great earthly sorrow had fallen and 
crushed her to the earth. 

As she thus watched, Henry entered the room, and taking 
her hand in both his own, sat down beside her; then brother 


350 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


and sister gazed upon the sleeper, and into each other’s 
faces. 

“We are going to lose him, Henry,” said Emily, in a whis- 
per, and her voice had that slow, calm tone, which sorrow, 
bereft of hope, often commands. “ I know it by Doctor 
Kelly’s looks, and the few words he has spoken, but most of 
all, by my own heart. You, too, have had warning. Is it 
not so, my poor brother ?” 

“ Hush, hush, my darling sister, let us hope, let us hope.” 

“ Ah, Henry, there is no hope in your eyes or in your 
heart. How proud he was of you, Henry ; he loved us both 
equally well ; but oh ! he w'as so proud of you !” 

“ Emily, Emily, speak not this way; my father may recover. 
The doctor has not told us not to hope.” 

“ Henry,” she replied, creeping closer to his side, “ I can- 
not explain to you how I know it, but ” 

“ But what, Emily?” 

“ I know, I feel, Henry, that death is near to us — in this 
very room. Oh, my God !” 

Henry folded her shivering form in his arms. Presently 
she looked up. 

“ Am I not very silly, Henry ?’’ she said, with a laugh that 
thrilled him with horror. “ Silly pussy ; is it not so ? But 
you must not laugh, Henry. The doctor, you know, told us 
how quiet we should keep the room ; and here he comes, 
himself,” she added, as the old gentleman entered the room. 

“ Oh, doctor,” whispered Henry, “ look .at Emily. I fear 
she has lost her senses.” 

“No, no, Henry,” replied the doctor, “she is only a little 
hysterical ; it will pass away. I sent for Mrs. Kelly, to 
stay with her, and she has just arrived. Emily,” he contin- 
ued, “there is a person waiting to see you.” 

“ To see me, doctor !” she answered, as she gave him her 
hand. “ You have always some j oke, doctor ; but not now — 
not now ; — indeed you must not have one now.” 

Outside the door, they found Mrs. Kelly. 

As Emily felt herself folded in the old lady’s arms, th$ 
sympathy of one of her own sex acted as a soothing balm 
on her over- wrought nerves, and she wept long and bitterly, 
on the bosom of her aged friend. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWST. 


351 


Leaving lier in charge of his wife, the doctor returned 
to the room. He found Henry bending over his father, 
while big tears chased each other down his cheeks. In the 
presence of his sister, he had endeavored to command him- 
self, but when left alone, it was a great relief thus to give 
way to his grief. The doctor touched his arm. 

“ You must retire for a little, Henry,” he said. w He will 
soon awake, and when he does, he must see nothing to dis- 
turb his mind. We must endeavor, gradually, to restore its 
tone, which this shock has all unstrung ; one sigh or tear, 
falling upon its newly-awakened chords, might make it jar 
again. I will remain here alone ; I have stationed Edward 
outside the door. I will summon you and Emily the mo- 
ment it is safe to do so.” 

A servant now entered with a lighted candle, for it was, 
by this time, nearly dark; the doctor took it from her hand 
and placed it so that its light would not affect his patient. 
As he was adjusting it, Henry approached him. 

“Doctor,” he said, “you have not told Emily, or myself, 
that my- father is dying.” 

“ No, Henry,” replied the old man, startled by his words, 
and the sad foreboding tone in which they were spoken. 
Not that I would deceive you for a moment. He has had 
a severe stroke of paralysis, too severe for one in his low state 
of health, but its final result, I cannot, as yet, judge of.” 

. “ And yet I feel it, doctor, and Emily feels it.” 

“ Feels what, Henry ?” 

“ That he is dying, doctor. That the heart which loved 
us so well, will soon be cold in death.” 

“ Tut, Henry, this is but the phantom of your fear.” 

“ So I should say if it had come to me but to-day ; but 
for a long time past, I have felt that we should lose him.” 

“ For a long time past, Henry, you have had much to fret 
you, and to give you those gloomy thoughts.” 

“ All which you now say, doctor, I have said over and 
over again to myself; but reason as I would against this 
thought ; banish it as I would, it has ever returned. Just 
now, as I looked upon him, methought it had a voice, for as 
truly as I tell it to you, I heard, distinctly, the death cry 
outside the window.” 


352 


:HE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ You heard the wind, that has arisen since night fall, 
Henry. Hear it now, how T it wails around the house;” 

“I hear it, doctor, but it is not the same as that I heard 
just now.” 

“ I thought,” replied Doctor Kelly, “ that you were above 
such idle superstitions ; your education should make you so.” 

“ Ah. doctor,” replied Henry, “ how far can education 
and knowledge assist us to penetrate the mysteries around 
us ? No farther than to show us that they are mysteries. You 
know the old tradition, in our family, that when one of 
its members is about to die, the banshee is heard and seen. 
No doubt you will say it is an idle, foolish superstition, and 
yet, having heard it said from my infancy, and firmly be- 
lieving it when a boy, it occurred to my mind when that 
low, strange cry arose under the window.” 

As he ceased speaking, both gentlemen started, for clear 
and distinct, above the night wind, came the tones of a 
woman’s voice, in lamentation. When first heard, it seemed 
as if she was passing rapidly under the windows of the 
room in which they were, and presently afterwards the 
voice died away in the distance. The doctor and Henry 
looked at one another and the former said : 

“ It is some poor woman who has been inquiring for your 
father ; go, Henry, and caution the servants not to allow a 
repetition of this.” 

Without replying, Henry went over to his father’s bed- 
side and knelt down; when he a^ose he said to the doctor: 
“ I will leave, as you think it right for me to do so, and will 
not return until you call me ; but let it be soon, my good 
doctor, for this is my place, until the will of God is made 
known to us.” 

He then left the room, but he neither went to caution the 
servants, as Doctor Kelly had directed, nor into the parlor, 
where he had left O’Kelly, but, taking his hat off the hall 
table, he opened the door softly and went out. 

As the doctor had remarked, the wind had risen since 
nightfall, and the appearance of the sky denoted a coming 
storm. The clouds swept in rapid flight, now in white 
vapors, which became transparent as they passed over the 
moon, then, again, in darker bodies, through which she could 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


353 


be indistinctly traced, seeming to cleave her way through 
the surrounding darkness, until again bursting forth upon 
the clear patches of sky. It was a wild night, with a wild 
sky in which no stars were visible — yet, not without beauty- 
desolate, wild and haggard, and strangely in unison with 
the feelings of him who now gazed upon it. Uncoverirg 
his head, he stood for sometime looking up to the sky, and 
letting the wind blow freely upon his fevered brow. As he 
thus stood, the phantom wail he had heard twice before, 
struck upon his ear ; this time accompanied by these words : 

“ Voh ! voh ! — Godfrey Daly---Godfrey Daly.” 

The voice seemed to come from a shrubbery, adjoining 
the house. With a quick step, Henry advanced. 

“ I will find out the meaning of this,” he said. u Surely 
my senses did not deceive me ; the words were plain and 
distinct.” 

As he entered the shrubbery, he had to pause, for a mass 
of dark clouds at that moment came over the moon, but in 
a few moments they had passed, and objects around again 
became visible. A cold shudder crept to his heart, for be- 
fore him, revealed by the flitting light, was the figure of a 
small female, wearing a gray cloak, with the hood thrown 
back. Her features were concealed by her long hair, which 
she seemed, from the motion of her hand, to be combing 
down. As Henry gazed, her plaintive wail rose and fell 
with the night wind ; now high, now low, but ever full of 
sorrow, and wild, melancholy pathos. 

Summoning all his nerve, he advanced towards her ; but, 
as he did so, the clouds again came over the moon and a gust 
of wind, far greater than any of those which had preceded 
it, swept past him. So great was its force, that he would 
have been thrown to the ground had he not caught hold of 
the branches of a tree close by him. The storm was at its 
height, and the tall trees swayed and moaned as they en- 
countered its fury. When Henry looked again, the phantom 
woman was gone, borne away, as it appeared to his heated 
imagination, upon the wings of the mighty wind ; for far 
away, in the distance, he still heard her wail, amidst the 
crash of falling trees which the storm was uprooting in its 
mad career. 


354 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Henry Daly was brave of heart, but now he had to lean 
against the tree by which he stood, while a clammy perspi- 
ration bathed his forehead ; yet it was not fear that thus 
unmanned him, but that he believed he had just heard the 
death-knell of his father. All that passed may, indeed, 
have been the creation of his excited feelings, but, at the 
time it appeared to him frightfully real. Big drops of rain 
now began to fall, but he heeded them not. Thus he remained 
for some time, the rain beating on his uncovered head, his 
mind a blank, with the exception of the one spectral thought 
of his father’s approaching death, crushing it down. At 
length he was startled from this trance-like state by a voice 
saying close to him : 44 Oh, voh ! voh ! voh !” He turned 

and saw Tom Gallaher beside him. 

“ And you heard her, too, asthore,” said Tom. “ Sure I 
see by you you have ; everyone in and about the house 
heard her. Oh ! Mr. Henry, this is a black night for the old 
place. Come in, agra, you’re all wet, and the doctor is ask- 
ing for you.” 

Henry roused himself. “ Tom,” he said, as he walked 
towards the house, “mention to no one how you found me. 
I felt a little unwell and weak, but it has passed away. 

44 I understand you, Mr. Henry,” replied Tom. 44 Never a 
word will I say about it. May God help you this night, 
alanna.” 

When they reached the house, Tom directed his steps to 
the yard. Entering one of the stables, he saddled a horse, 
and, mounting him, rode down the avenue. He was going 
for a priest, by the doctor’s directions. 

Henry found Anthony O’Kelly waiting for him at the hall 
door. 44 Your father is awake, Henry,” said the latter. 
“ The doctor and Emily are with him.” 

Henry, on hearing this, was rushing past O’Kelly, when 
his friend detained him. “Stay, Henry,” he said; 44 the 
doctor has just told me to caution you to approach your 
father quietly and self-possessed. He is quite collected, but 
very weak ; and— and, Henry, when you take his hand, be 
sure it is the left one you take.” 

“ Why so ?” 

“ Henry, I fear the right one is powerless.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


355 


“ Oh ! poor— poor father !” 

“ Come,” said O’Kelly, placing his arm within that of his 
friend, “ be a man, Henry. Lean on me, my poor fellow. 
Courage ! — courage ! — my brave Henry. Come, he has been 
asking for you.” 

Thus encouraging and supporting him, O’Kelly led him 
up stairs. When they entered the room, Doctor Kelly and 
Emily were standing by Mr. Daly’s bedside. The form of 
the latter was slightly raised, and supported by pillows. 
As the door opened, he turned his eyes towards it, and 
when he saw w T ho it was that entered, a flush of feeling — of 
pleasure, came to his face. Henry hurried forward. 

“Father!” was all he was able to say; while in his grief, 
forgetful of O’Kelly’s warning, he took the hand next to 
him. 

“Not that one, Henry,” said Mr. Daly, in a broken whis- 
per, while a pained expression crossed his features,. “ The 
left — the left ; nearest the heart, my beloved boy.” 

“ How do you feel, father?” 

“ Well, Henry, but for you and Emily. It is hard to part 
with you, my children. For the rest, I trust in the mercy of 
my Saviour, and fear not death.” 

“ Godfrey, you must not thus despond,” said Doctor Kelly. 
“With God’s assistance you will rally, and recover from 
this shock.” 

“ To linger, J ames, a tew years, or months, perhaps, a 
shattered, helpless wreck. Better, J ames, if it is God’s will, 
to drift out to the ocean, than lie stranded and moldering 
upon the shore.” 

Whilst Mr. Daly w^as speaking, Emily and Henry knelt by 
the bed, and with their heads bent down, wept in silence. 
He placed his hand alternately on the heads of his children. 
“They will want a friend, James,” he said, “when I am 
gone. By our life’s friendship, I conjure you to be that 
friend.” 

Vanquished by grief, despite all his efforts at self-com- 
mand, Doctor Kelly was unable to reply; but, stooping 
down, he imprinted a long, fervent kiss on the lips of his 
friend. 

There was something most solemn and beautiful in this, 


356 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


his acceptance of the trust. He remembered, when a boy, 
pushing aside the rich curls of Godfrey Daly, (then a very 
young child,) and kissing his cheek. This was the com- 
mencement of their friendship. Years had passed since 
then, and now he kissed the withered lips of his aged friend. 
What precious, true, ennobling friendship was this; com- 
mencing on the threshold of life, keeping pace with life’s 
journey, now ratified and renewed, as they stood upon the 
shores of the unknown, inscrutable eternity, the shadow of 
whose dark portal already rested on the head of one of the 
pilgrims. 

“ I am forgetting my craft,” said the doctor, shaking off 
the weakness that for a time had overcome him, “ and allow 
you to be too much excited, Godfrey. Hand me that glass, 
Emily.” 

O’Kelly was about to go to the table for it. “No, Antho- 
ny,” whispered the doctor, “ the more little offices she gets 
to do, the better.” 

Then he addressed Henry in a low voice. “ See,” he said, 
“ if the messenger sent for Doctor Whistler has returned. 
He should have been here hours ago. Now, Godfrey, take 
this drink, and rest a little ; you must not speak much, until 
your strength returns somewhat.” 

He held the drink to Mr. Daly’s lips, who, with difficulty 
drank a little, which seemed to revive him ; after which he 
lay back and closed his eyes. Suddenly he opened them, 
and asked what the hour was. 

“ It is past ten,” replied Dr. Kelly 

“ You have sent for Father Roach, James?” he enquired. 

“ Yes, Godfrey.” 

“ I would that he were here,” said the sick man. 

“ He will be presently, Godfrey. Tom is a good messen- 
ger.” 

“ Ah ! poor Tom,” said Mr. Daly. 

Just then Henry returned, and whispered to the doctor. 
The eyes of the sick man followed every motion of his son. 

“ Wkat is it, Henry ?” he asked. 

“ I fear, Godfrey,” answered Dr. Kelly, “ that Dr. Whist- 
ler cannot be here before morning.” 

“ It matters not,” he replied, “ but I would that the priest 
were come.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 357 

u He will be here immediately, Godfrey. Compose yourself, 
my friend, to see him .” 

After again taking a little of the contents of the glass, 
which Emily held to his lips, and addressing a few words to 
O’Kelly, Mr. Daly closed his eyes, and his lips moved in 
prayer. Whilst he was thus engaged, the doctor and An- 
thony O’Kelly spoke from time to time, in whispers, and 
Henry, with his arm encircling his sister’s waist, stood at 
the foot of the bed. Presently was heard the sound of 
wheels upon the gravel, outside. 

“ That is Father Roach,” said Mr. Daly, “ go, dear Henry, 
and receive him.” 

“ Shall I bring him here at once, father?” 

“ Yes, my son.” 

Henry left the room and returned in a few minutes 
accompanied by the priest. Mr. Daly, whose strength 
seemed partially restored, held out his hand to the latter. 

“ You are welcome, Father Roach,” he said, “always 
welcome, but never more so than now.” 

The clergyman took his hand and held it affectionately 
between bis own, whilst his countenance showed that he 
was both shocked and grieved to find Mr. Daly so terribly 
shattered. 

The latter remarked the look. “ You see, Father Roach,” 
he said, “ what a change a few hours have wrought in me.” 

“ You must, indeed, have had a severe attack,” replied 
the clergyman, “ but, with the help of God, I hope you will 
get over it.” 

Mr. Daly shook his head sadly. 

“We will now leave you for a little while, Godfrey, with 
Father Roach,” said Doctor Kelly. 

“Yes, yes, James,” replied Mr. Daly. 

“ Some of us will remain near at hand ” said the doctor, 
addressing the priest, “ should you require anything,” 

Before quitting the room, Emily and Henry kissed their 
father, and his eyes followed them greedily, until the door 
closed. 

“ You cannot know,” he said, addressing the clergyman, 

“ how good and loving they are, or how dear to me.” 

“ Then,” replied the priest, “ if it is the will of God that 


358 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


you should be taken from them, how great a consolation 
must it be to you, at such a moment, to know that God has 
promised to reward, even in this world, filial affection.” 

The clergyman remained for more than an hour alone 
with Mr. Daly. When those who had retired, were again 
admitted to the room, they found the latter apparently 
much revived ; he had received the rites of the Catholic 
church, and no doubt the fact of his mind being soothed 
by the consolations of religion, had a salutary effect on his 
nervous system. 

The doctor’s face brightened ; the sad presentiments 
which had chilled the hearts of Emily and Henry, seemed 
now, to them, about to prove unfounded, and the latter 
would fain believe that the phantom woman and her wild 
lament were but the creations of a mind, overburdened 
with grief. So easy is it, to rekindle hope in the human 
heart. 

After some time, the doctor looked at his watch. 

“ It is twelve o’clock,” he said. u You must endeavor to 
get some rest, Godfrey. Emily,” he continued, u remove 
some of these pillows. Let me support you, Godfrey, while 
she does so. You will be more likely to sleep, when in a 
position you are accustomed to. What is this Shakspeare 
says about sleep ? — 4 Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve 
of care.’” 

He spoke thus, anxious, as much as possible, to divert 
Mr. Daly’s attention (as he changed his position,) from the 
calamity which had befallen him ; the truth being, that his 
right side was completely paralyzed and dead. Perhaps 
Mr. Daly saw through the doctor’s little ruse, for though a 
faint flush came to his face, as his arm fell powerless to his 
side, when the pillows on which it rested were removed, 
he made no remark on the circumstance, but smiled affec- 
tionately on Emily, as she adjusted the bed covering. 

u You and the doctor are tender nurses, love,” he said .; 
“may God bless my darling.” 

The slight exertion of changing his position seemed to 
have weakened him, and Doctor Kelly begged that he would 
try to get a little sleep. 

“Father Koach has promised me, James, to remain here 
to-night.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


359 


“So lie tells me, Godfrey. We will all be near you, but it 
is absolutely necessary that you should not converse any 
more until you have slept.” 

“Well, James,” replied Mr. Daly, “I will try and do so.” 

After some time, he slumbered, and though no one in the 
house thought of retiring to rest, there was a general still- 
ness maintained in and around it. The storm had subsided, 
and no sound broke upon the stillness of the night, save the 
sighing of the exhausted wind. 

Mr. Daly’s sleep was short and disturbed, and when he 
awoke he complained of a pain in the head. After this, 
although he slept not, he fell into a drowsy, lethargic state. 
From time to time the doctor administered stimulants to 
him, but they seemed to have no effect, and he sank rapidly. 
Thus passed the night, during which Henry often found him- 
self listening, with a kind of fascinated dread, for the un- 
earthly voice which had so much disturbed him ; but he heard 
it not again. 

It was now the dark hour which precedes the break of day, 
when Mr. Daly beckoned the doctor over to him, 

“I am sinking fast, James,” he said, “I would speak to 
my children. I would bless them while I have voice to do 
so. I bless them ever in my heart, but I know they would 
wish to have it from my lips ere they are closed in death.” 

“ Father,” said Henry, as he and Emily knelt by the bed- 
side, “ we are here.” 

Mr. Daly stretched forth his hand, and, as his children 
bathed it with their tears, he said : 

« Heavenly Father, thou knowest how dutiful and lov- 
ing these thou gavest to me, have been. Sinner though I 
am, let a father’s blessing have efficacy with thee. Alas !” 
he continued, “ how little have I deserved the love which 
they have lavished upon me. Oh ! my son, my son, can you 
forgive me, for leaving you but a beggared inheritance ?” 

Henry rose to his feet, his face glowing with generous 
warmth. 

“ Wrong not yourself, my father,” he said, “ by such words 
as these. If there is mercy in my heart for the unfortunate, 
sympathy for the oppressed, and scorn for the base, it was 
you, my father, who stamped these feelings on my young 


360 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

mind. If truth and yirtue are dearer to me than life, if the 
richest prize which the world could bestow would weigh 
naught, when placed in the scale against my honor, as a 
gentleman, it is that, even before I could appreciate the 
beauty and value of these, in themselves, I had learned to 
love them as belonging to my father. You might, indeed, 
have checked the generous impulses of your heart, and found 
yourself extolled for prudence. You might have oppressed 
the poor, and thereby enriched yourself ; nay, had you be- 
come a parasite to your country, and a traitor to your God, 
the path which leads to high places was open to you ; and 
your talents would have enabled you to outstrip the throng 
that crowd the track ; but choose now, my father, between 
these, between what you have done, and what you might 
have done ; and say which you would leave, as an inherit- 
ance, to your children. 

The life blood that had been growing cold and stagnant 
around the heart of Godfrey Daly, quickened with a pulse, 
at the words of his son, and flowing once more through the 
deserted veins, mounted to the pallid cheek, to thank him. 

“ Kaise me up,” said the dying man, “ until I listen to the 
music of my boy’s voice.” 

They raised him gently up, and his eyes fell upon the 
form of his daughter, who had thrown herself across the 
foot of the bed. 

“ Ah, poor pussy,” he murmured. “ Come here, my dar- 
ling. Did you not hear those brave words of Henry’s, and 
have you naught to say ?” 

“ Oh, father,” she exclaimed, in wild grief, as she flung 
her arms around his neck. “ I love you ! Oh, God, you will 
not take him from us ?” 

“It was even so with her mother,” he whispered. “She 
would ever thus endeavor to shield me with her love. I go 
to join her, Emily, for even now, my boy has pleaded for 
me, with God. Kiss me, my children, once more — once 
more — yet, once more. Bless you — bless you — and you will 
be blessed.” 

He lay for a few minutes, silent, in the arms of his child- 
ren ; then he said, 

“Take her, Henry. In your charge I leave this tender 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


361 


flower. And now, my children and friends, yon will leave 
me alone, for a short time, with the good priest.’’ 

They did so, Henry supporting the form of his sister, as 
they left the room. 

It might have been about half an hour after this, when 
the clergyman hurried into the room, in which they waited. 

“ Come quick,” he said to the doctor. “ He has got a sud- 
den change.” 

Dr. Kelly hastened from the room, followed by Henry, 
Emily, and most of the household, who had gathered there. 

The doctor threw back the curtains of the bed. Godfrey 
Daly lay upon his side, his head resting upon his hand. He 
was dead. He had died wdthout a struggle, for his features 
were calm, and his eyes partially closed. 

One wild scream, and Dr. Kelly turned in time, to catch 
the fainting form of Emily in his arms. 

“Thus,” said the priest, solemnly, “do the just go to 
sleep !” 

As he spoke, the sun, which had risen a short time be- 
fore, flung its rays into the room. 

“And thus,” said the doctor, pointing to the open window 
through which it was visible, “thus do they awaken to a 
glorious resurrection.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Six weeks had passed since Godfrey Daly’s death, and 
spring, beautiful spring; more beautiful than the poet’s 
dream, fully robed in Her mantle of green, was upon the 
earth. Fair, bright priestess of nature ! She had first visit- 


362 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWtt. 


ed the meadow fielcls, and scattered the chaste snow-drops 
and daffodils along her path; then to gardens, and down in 
tangled brakes and hidden dells ; along thick hedges, and 
up bridle paths ; by roadside walks, and highways and by- 
ways, searching for the sleeping flowers, and whispering to 
them, awake ! Then, from meadow and garden, from brake 
and dell, went up the fresh, pure incense of nature’s prayer 
to God. 

None of the other seasons move the heart like spring; 
children, with shouts and laughter, welcome this, their young, 
blooming sister. The poor drudge, to whom the lengthen- 
ing day will bring but increase of toil, thinks not of the 
summer sun, that will burn upon his brow, as he rejoices, 
without knowing wherefore, in the very consciousness of 
existence. Nor is it the presence of opening flowers, sweet 
scents, bright skies, or the thousand melodies of birds, which 
alone move him. Something, more mysterious than that 
which affects the senses, bids him rejoice ; for his brother 
drudge, who toils in the crowded city, burrowing in its dark 
lanes, where sun rays never fall ; — he, too, feels this myste- 
rious lightening of the heart. He feels that beyond the 
smoky city, there is spring; and rejoicing that one blessed 
day, at least, belongs not to toil, he and his pale wife, and 
little children, (poor buds, drooping ere they have blossom- 
ed,) go forth, outside the noisy town, to walk by green 
hedges, rest on thick daisy carpets, and listen to the songs 
of birds. And there comes to the heart of the toil-worn 
man, a whispering of a brighter spring, whose flowers shall 
never fade, whose music, no night shall sijence. 

Yet, there is a sorrow which the spring-time seems to 
mock. When the grave has just closed over the beloved, 
we are apt to feel jealous of the abundant life that spring 
brings forth ; the trees have resumed their foliage, the birds 
their songs, the flowers their perfume ; nay, the very insects 
that winter had buried deep in snowy graves, have returned 
to life, but they shall never return. 

Such was the sorrow of Emily and Henry Daly, in the 
first days of their mourning, — a sorrow so intense and full, 
that it scarcely left, room in the heart of the latter for a new 
grief which had come to him. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


363 


Emily had often, in her letters to Eose O’Donnell, alluded 
to the declining health of her father, brought on, she had 
no doubt, by anxiety of mind, in consequence of the em- 
barrassed state oi his affairs, and Eose would ponder over 
those letters until, in her nervous grief, she looked upon 
herself as the obstacle to the happiness of those so dear 
to her. 

“ If Henry did not love me,” she would argue with her- 
self, “ what is there to prevent him from marrying some rich 
girl, and thus free his father from those debts which, as poor 
Emily writes, are bringing him to the grave.” Thus arguing, 
she, with a fortitude equal to the Eoman of old, who leaped 
from the light of day, — determined to break off all inter- 
course with the Dalystown family. 

“ When my very name shall have ceased to be mentioned,” 
she said, u he will forget this foolish love, and find happi- 
ness with one more suited to him.” 

And yet, (oh strange contradiction of human nature,) it 
was the hope of not being forgotten by him, of still being 
beloved by him, which, like a miser’s treasure, she hid even 
from her own sight, which sustained her in this bitter strug- 
gle between love and duty. While debating in her own 
mind, how best to effect her object, an opportunity to do so 
unexpectedly offered. A brother of Mr. Kirwan’s died about 
this time, in America, leaving some landed property which 
the latter became entitled to, and as his business in Liver- 
pool brought him but a precarious income, he resolved to 
emigrate to his newly acquired property. Her aunt invited 
Eose to share their fortunes, and as it seemed to the young 
girl that Providence approved of her resolve, by thus giving 
her so good an opportunity of putting it into execution, she 
accepted the invitation, to the great joy of the whole family, 
but not without many a pang and struggle in her own 
heart. On the eve of her departure she wrote a farewell 
letter to Henry. She had at* first intended to have written 
to Doctor Kelly, or to Emily, but then, again, she thought, 
that as she was giving up all, forsaking all she loved, she might 
be pardoned the human weakness of speaking, as it were once 
more to her lover ere an ocean rolled between them and 
their loves. It must be remembered that Eose deemed this 
23 


364 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


parting final. A voyage to America was looked upon by 
the emigrant, even at so late a period as the one I write of, as 
an^ eternal separation from country and friends. The Atlan- 
tic had not, as yet, become a highway for steamers, to pass 
back and forward with the regularity of stage coaches. Be- 
lieving, then, that she should never more behold him, she 
poured out the whole love of her heart, in bidding him fare- 
well. While she told him to forget her, and look upon her 
as dead, she showed him how his image alone should ever 
fill her heart. Had Rose been the most artful of her sex, 
educated by the most manoeuvring of mammas, she could 
not possibly have written a letter more likely to counteract 
the object it purported to have in view ; and yet, in doing 
so, she was innocent of all guile. Art, at best, is but a poor 
copyist of nature,- and succeeds but in proportion as it ap- 
proaches the original. Rose did one thing, however, that 
the carefully educated young lady never would do. She 
concealed from Henry what part of America Mr. Kirwan 
was going to settle in, and she was well aware, that, beyond 
his name, the Dalystown family knew nothing of him, knew 
not if he had friends in England or Ireland, to whom they 
might apply. No, nothing of the kind, so she firmly believed 
that she was leaving behind nbt one clue by which her lover 
could find her out; that he would attempt to follow her was 
a thing she scarcely dreamed of. 

It is believed by woman, that man’s love can never be as 
strong as her own ; herein I differ from the fair sex. I deem 
that man’s love can be as strong and lasting as woman’s, 
but, scarcely ever, so self-sacrificing. Generally, his best 
and warmest affections are alloyed with self-love ; woman’s 
are all pure gold, fresh from the heart’s mint. 

Rose’s letter was mailed on the day she sailed for Amer* 
ica, and reached Dalystown the day after Mr. Daly’s funeral,. 
Henry read it, word for word, more than once. So dull 
was his heart with grief, that it seemed almost a relief, when 
a fresh weapon was flung from the armory of sorrow, to sting 
it into sensitiveness. A week elapsed ere he showed this 
letter to Emily. 

“ I always knew, Henry,” she said, as she handed it back 
to him, “ that she loved you dearly. Alas I she has made a 
sacrifice, now unnecessary.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


365 


“Dear Emily,” replied her brother, “let us not talk of 
this now, I love her, heaven knows how truly and well, but 
it seems to me like profanation to speak of such things 
now, of to think of aught but of him whom we have lost.” 

“ Yes, dear brother,” she answered. “ And, oh ! the thou- 
sand chances that life has, of turning sorrow into joy, but 
the grave gives naught back.” 

Six weeks had passed since Emily and Henry had held 
this short conversation, and since then the subject was 
never resumed by either. 

It was a calm, lovely evening. Henry sat by his sister’s 
side, holding her hand in his. Edward Vaughan stood at 
one of the windows of the room, his heart in happy unison 
with the scene without. Old Carlo lay at Henry’s feet ; 
Emily’s eyes rested upon him and a tear stole silently down 
her cheek. Henry observed it, and the direction of her eyes. 

“ Come here. Carlo,” he said, “ poor fellow.” 

The dog arose, placed his head on Henry’s knee, and 
looked up wistfully into his face. 

“ My good dog. Had you him out to-day, Edward ?” 

“No,” replied the boy. “I did my best to coax him out, 
but he would not follow me.” 

“ I do believe, Henry,” said Emily, “ that he misses him? 

U I am sure he does, Emily. Edward,” he continued, “it 
seems a beautiful evening ; you should be out, and not 
cooped up in the house. Go and take a ramble, and per- 
haps Carlo will go with you now.” 

“ I wish,” said Edward, “ you would come out for a walk.”' 

“ Do, dear Henry,” said Emily, “ you will lose your health 
by remaining in the house.” 

“ Indeed he win,” said Edward. u Do come out.” 

“Not this evening, Edward ; some other time.” 

“That is what you always say,” replied the disappointed 
boy. 

“Well, do not ask me now, but get your cap, and Carlo 
will go with you. Go with him, old fellow. Go with him, 
good dog.” 

The dog evidently understood what was said to him, for 
he looked at Edward, and when the boy put on his cap, ho 
followed him out of the house. 


366 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Left alone, Henry and his sister remained for some time 
silent ; and so absorbed had they become with their own 
thoughts, that they did not perceive Doctor Kelly entering 
the room. The closing of the door broke the spell, and as 
the doctor advanced, both rose to meet him. But the 
bright smile with which he was wont to greet them, was no 
longer on the old man’s face, and the elasticity of his step 
was gone. In this room, at least, his countenance could 
never again wear its old smile, and his step would hence- 
forth grow heavy, as he crossed its threshold. 

“I have driven over to spend the evening with you,” he 
said, seating himself. u I find that neither of you have ac- 
ceded to my request.” 

u How so, doctor?” asked Henry. 

“ I have just met Edward Vaughan. He tells me you 
never stir out. Henry, this must not be.” 

“ Indeed, doctor,” said Emily, “I thought to persuade 
Henry to go out this evening. As for me, I am accustomed 
to confinement, and the idea of going out now is hateful to 
me.” 

“ Nevertheless, you must do so. But Henry should set 
you the example. The grief you feel — and which you have 
so good a right to feel — endears you the more to my heart ; 
but you must not let it become a selfish sorrow.” 

“Selfish!” exclaimed Henry. 

“ Grief becomes selfish,” replied the old man, “ when we 
allow it to incapacitate us for the duties of life. You have 
no right to say to yourself, ‘ I take no interest now, in any- 
thing ; ’ for while we are in the world, have duties to 
perform in it.” 

“ But not just now, dear doctor,” said Henry. “ We must 
have a little time, ere we do as you say. The sound of his 
footsteps have scarcely yet died away in our home.” 

Emily wept bitterly at her brother’s wouds, and the doc- 
tor himself was so affected that he had to pause before he 
replied. 

u Alas ! Henry,” he said, “ few of us are so situated that 
we can wait until time has closed the wound which death 
infiicts, before resuming our armor. Most of us have to go 
forth to fight life’s battle, while it is yet open and bleeding. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


367 


It is so with you; and I have come here this evening to 
speak with you of your future plans — to consult with Em- 
ily and you relative to them, and to guide you, to the best 
of my ability and judgment. Come, we will take a turn in 
the park, and Emily will have tea ready for us on our re- 
turn ; after which we will speak together of your future 
prospects. I have already formed my own judgment on a 
course which I will propose to you — one that I think will 
tend to the future happiness of both. But you shall judge 
for yourselves. You have a choice to make, for fortunately 
it is not the only one open to you.” 

Henry could not refuse the doctor, and as the two stroll- 
ed down the avenue, they met Edward Y aughan returning 
to the house. 

“ Turn back with us, my boy,” said the doctor, and he 
soon had him telling one of the many sea stories he had 
heard from his father, in years past. Edward related them 
with spirit, and even Henry became interested. 

“ Upon my word, Edward,” said the doctor, k4 you have a 
good memory. I could almost imagine I was listening to 
a son of Neptune, spinning his yarns ; you omit not a 
phrase. I believe you are, 4 to the manner born,’ a seaman.” 

44 1 am a sailor’s son, sir,” replied Edward. 

44 And a brave good man he was, my boy, by your account 
of him. An upright, honest, brave man, Henry, he appears 
to have been, from those little traits of character, the boy 
mentions. Keep his memory green in your heart, my child, 
it will be a guide and support to you in the trials you may 
meet with in life. We will return to the house, Henry ; the 
evening grows chilly.” 

By the time they joined Emily, she had tea prepared for 
them. During the meal, the doctor conversed with the 
young people, and although it would be inappropriate to 
apply the term cheerful to his conversation, still, it was of 
that agreeable nature that soothes, where cheerfulness 
would but wound. He had a most happy talent of conceal- 
ing his own sorrow, whilst administering consolation to 
others ; and I know not but that those whose words fall, 
like dew, upon the crushed heart, making its drooping llow- 
ers revive, are better deserving of monuments than the 


368 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ boldest soldier boy,” that ever slew his fellow creatures 
by wholesale, not excepting Napoleon le Grand, or Alex- 
ander rivrogne. But that many-headed calf, the world, 
like Pope’s silly lamb, “licks the hand just raised to shed 
its blood.” Lick away, you senseless fools, and so long as 
you do, may you be whipped in return by the royal butchers, 
as they drive you to their shambles. 

After tea, the doctor gradually led the conversation Ho 
the subject he had come to discuss. 

“ I suppose,” he said, “we need have no secrets from our 
friend Edward, here.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Henry, “ I now look upon him 
as one who, whatever my future fortunes may be, shall share 
them with me.” 

Edward gave him a look of affectionate gratitude, but 
when the doctor commenced to speak on family matters, 
he took an opportunity, unobserved, to leave the room. 

After Doctor Kelly had slightly glanced at the position 
of the Dalystown property, the debts with which it was in- 
cumbered, &c., &c., — all of which he was perfectly conver- 
sant with, he said, “of course, Henry, you have not thought, 
as yet, on any certain plan or course for the future ?” 

“I have not thought once of myself, doctor. I have lost 
all energy, when the motive that could and would sustain 
me no longer exists.” 

“That is natural enough, but this feeling will wear away. 
A merciful God has set limits to sorrow; nor would respect 
for the memory of your father, love for your sister, or even 
ancestral pride, allow you to remain here inactive until 
greedy creditors drove you hence.” 

“ Henry Daly’s face flushed. 

“ True, doctor,” he replied, “ the last of my name that 
shall ever look upon the dear old place as his home, will 
not wait to be driven from it, like a whining hound.” 

“ Pride !” thought the old man, “ ever powerful in the 
noble breast; no wonder angels fell, when you were ad- 
mitted into Paradise! Well, then, Henry,” he said, “that 
being so, let us, for a moment leave out of sight the prop- 
erty and its incumbrances ; and looking upon yourself as a 
free agent, what profession would you select? Your father 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


369 


wished you to be a barrister. What say you to the wig and 
gown ?” 

“ I never liked the idea, yet to please my poor father, 
and with the slight hope of being of service to him, I would 
have gone to the bar, and toiled like the veriest drudge. 
But now to walk the hall, as a briefless barrister, to be point- 
ed at as the ruined heir of the property whose name would 
be every second day in the court-crier’s mouth, as the slow 
process of accumulating costs was going through, would 
be insupportable. Perhaps it is foolish of me to say it, but 
I do not think, even to acquire wealth, I could listen, day 
after day, to hear the name of Dalystown (round which there 
clusters so many dear associations) bandied about amongst 
strangers. My feelings would be somewhat similar to those 
of one who should witness the desecration of the shrine he 
was wont to kneel at.” 

u I once knew a man, Henry,” replied the doctor, “ who 
was left heir to a property much embarrassed. He was 
twice your age; but, unlike you, the fellow had a conscience as 
pliant as India rubber and a hide impervious to goose quills. 
Some time previous to his entering into the posession of the 
property, the wolves of the law had sat down to gnaw it. 
He went round and round it, and soon found out that there 
was no place for him unless he became a wolf. A wolf he 
determined to become, so he bound himslf to an attorney. 
Every one laughed at a man of his age commencing a pro- 
fession ; he joined in the laugh and whetted his fangs. He 
had not served more than a year and a-halfof his time, when 
he applied to the benchers to be admitted an honorable 
member of the wolf family. He pleaded his own case, showed 
himself to be perfectly conversant with legal practice, and 
urged as reasons which should induce the judges to accede 
to his unusual application, the state of his affairs, the neces- 
sity of having some one qualified to look after them, and 
his inability, from want of means, to procure professional 
assistance. He won his cause, and was admitted. Losing 
no time, with one jump he was in the middle of the pack, 
and from that out, for every bite they took, he took two. 
When the property was at length sold he bought it in, for 
the greater portion of the amount it sold for was due to him 


370 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


in costs, but long before that time he had become known in 
his profession, and was in extensive practice ; belying the 
adage, “ that the man who is his own lawyer, has a fool for 
a client.” 

“ You have not told me this, doctor, to induce me to be- 
come a barrister?” said Henry. 

“No, Henry, much less an attorney. You are made of 
different stuff from the fellow I have been speaking about. 
Not but that the profession of a barrister, in its higher 
walks, is a very noble one ; nevertheless, I am not sorry you 
will have none of it. So, if you please, we will hang up the 
wig on its jDeg again.” 

“The truth is,” said Henry, “I think there is but one pro- 
fession open to me.” 

“And what one may that be, Henry?” 

“The army.” 

“ What !” exclaimed the old man. “ Put on the livery of 
England ?” 

“ No, doctor,” replied Henry. “ There are other countries 
besides England — for instance, I would not be the first 
Irishman who had tendered his sword to France.” 

“True,” said the doctor. “The field of Fontenoy bore 
evidence of that. But when they did so, France was, in a 
measure, an ally of Ireland’s, an enemy to her enemy, and 
they hoped, through France, to avenge the wrongs of their 
country. Your grandfather, Dillon, was one of those who 
had such hopes ; but with you it would be quite different. 
Come, we will put this idea of yours first iu the melodra- 
matic style — flourish of trumpets, &c. l r ou go to France, 
offer your services to the King — that is if you chance to find 
one there with his head on — you are accepted, and die on a 
well fought field, 4 with your martial cloak around you.’ Now 
you will not be vexed if I strip this of its romance, and tell 
you what it really means ?” 

“ No, doctor.” 

“ Well, you would be nothing more than a mercenary, 
saying to the king : 4 Here am I, a fine, brave, cut-throat, — 

whose throat would your majesty wish me to cut?’ By-and- 
bye the king, having got into a row with another king about 
something, perhaps as valueless as a French poodle, — if it 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


371 


chances to be a point of honor between their majesties, I 
would consider the cur’s tail of more account, — sends you, 
and some thirty or forty thousand fools like you, to fight an 
equal number of fools, as the case may be ; and a fellow 
you had never seen, takes a capital method to prevent you 
from ever being able to do so, by driving a ball through 
your eye, and the curtain drops.” 

Henry could not but smile at the doctor’s sketch. 

“ If my graphic description has not given you a distaste 
for soldiering, Henry,” added the old man, “look .at your sis- 
ter.” 

The moment Henry had spoken of joining the French ser- 
vice, the young girl’s form seemed to collapse with horror ; 
she sat looking at him, scarce hearing the doctor’s words, 
her eyes fixed and her hands clasped tightly together. 
When her brother turned to her, she burst into tears. 

“ Oh, no — no — Henry,” she sobbed, I cannot lose you 
both.” 

“ My dear Emily,” replied her brother, as he kissed her 
cheek, “it was but an idle, passing thought, I gave utter- 
ance too; one too, which the doctor has effectually routed. 
Let it trouble you no more.” 

“ Thank God,” said Emily. 

“ Yes, Henry,” said the doctor, “under heaven there is 
nothing so supremely grand as a nation rising in arms to de- 
fend its rights, or regain its liberty ; but all other wars are 
not alone the remnants of barbarism, but its very essence.” 

“Well, doctor,” said Henry, “ what do you propose ? In 
truth, I know not what my future course should be, and I 
would wish to be guided by you.” 

“ What I have to propose, Henry,” replied the doctor, “ has 
disadvantages; they are, perhaps, more numerous than I 
suppose them to be, and though I believe it would ulti- 
mately lead to success and tranquil happiness, I do not 
conceal from myself that you would have trials to pass 
through which your position heretofore has, to a certain ex- 
tent, unfitted you for. Therefore, you and Emily must use 
your own judgments and weigh well what is for and against 
it. You have spoken of France ; what if I should speak of 
America ?” 


372 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


A thrill of joy shot through Henry’s frame. A shadowy 
longing which he had felt more than once ; a wild hope, 
which he had rejected in the first days of his grief, because 
it was hope ; — rejected and yet wooed back — now came to 
him as something practicable. He felt himself blushing 
like a girl; perhaps it was for letting joy visit his heart so 
soon, or that, with a lover’s sensitiveness, he felt that the 
doctor had read his thoughts. 

The latter, to allow him to recover from his confusion, 
addressed Emily. 

“Now, Emily,” he said, “you must not look at me so re- 
proachfully, until you hear what I have to say.” 

“ But, doctor,” she replied, “ I never hear of any, but the 
very poorest of our country people, going to America.” 

“It has indeed given homes to thousands of such, replied 
the old man, which their own country denied to them, and 
I feel assured that the present emigration is but a rivulet 
compared with the vast stream which will yet flow in that 
direction. Many tokens of the prosperity of those who have 
already emigrated have been received by their friends at 
home, and they welcome such with the joy of shipwrecked 
mariners, when the evidence of land approaches their fragile 
raft. But it does not follow, my dear Emily, that because 
the poor and ignorant go, that enlightened, and those with 
better means, should not also find, in America, a noble field 
for their energies. Bemember, my dear, that it is the new 
world, whose virgin resources are as varied as its climate, 
and whose vast extent we islanders can scarcely compre- 
hend.” 

“Ah, doctor, boundless forests.” 

“Were I a young man, Emily,” replied the doctor, “I 
would make my home in one of those forests, not as an an- 
chorite, but as one who would watch, with lively interest, the 
growing up of a young nation around him. But all this is 
irrelevant. Remember, I scarcely wish to be looked upon 
as an advocate of the course I now propose. Locke says, 
as well I remember, ‘ that things appear differently as they 
are viewed from different positions.’ This is a very plain 
truth. Now it is from your position that what I propose 
must be viewed, because it is you that it directly affects. I 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


£73 


take it for granted, Henry, that in any of our plans for the 
future, the payment of your father’s debts will hold a para- 
mount place.” 

“You do us but justice, doctor.” 

“Well,” continued the doctor, “that being the case, all 
unnecessary costs must be avoided. Every shilling that is 
wasted in law costs will diminish the means you have for the 
payment of those debts. The property is ample value now 
for what it owes ; allow a receiver to be placed over it, let 
it once be sucked into the vortex of chancery, and the funds 
which should go to pay creditors, will find their way into 
the pockets of the attorneys. My children, they are better 
words for your old friend to say to you. Sell Dalystown, or 
this will happen ; but I am sustained by the conviction that 
in saying so I am faithful to the memory of the dead, and 
true to the promise I sealed upon his dying lips.” 

The old man paused, deeply moved ; and his concluding 
words had been spoken in a broken voice. Emily’s low 
sobs alone disturbed the silence which followed. At length, 
Henry said : 

“ We are rich, indeed, in having such a friend ; you are 
right, doctor, Come what will, we have a sacred duty to 
perform, which, dear as this place may be, is as nothing 
compared to. No stain shall rest upon my father’s honor. 
What say you, Emily ?” 

“ I would prefer, Henry, that we should go out beggars 
on the world, than that the smallest portion of my father’s 
debts should go unpaid.” 

“ And if the only sure way of paying them, Emily,” said 
Dr. Kelly, “ lies in the selling of Dalystown as quickly as 
may be, tell me. my love, after that takes place, what near 
tie will remain to bind you and Henry.to this country ?” 

“None — none — dear doctor,” she answered, “ save you, 
and my father’s grave.” 

“ Emily, my heart thanks you for thinking of the old man ; 
but, my child, my days are drawing to a close, and the 
heaven from which, I trust, your father’s spirit looks down 
upon his children, canopies all lands. With you, Henry, it 
might be different, for you are a man, and the ties of coun- 
try should bind you strongly; but we Irish can scarcely be 


374 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


said to have a country, at best, we are but emancipated 
slaves, of whom it is expected that they will bow down and 
kiss the hand that most unwillingly loosens our fetters. 
Brighter days may come, and, as a citizen of the United 
States, you could remember (when the hour for doing so 
arrived,) the allegiance you owed to your country, and how 
little of it was ever due to her English taxmasters. Should 
you remain in the country, after your property was sold, 
you would have a feeling of loss of caste, ideal perhaps, but 
not the less painful ; this, in itself would dull your energies ; 
your pride, would be continually wounded, for with some, 
pride is ever more sensitive and jealous in adversity, than 
in prosperity. In America, it would be quite different. 
Leaving far behind you crowded cities, you could go into 
one of the new states or territories, and amidst its forests, 
which now Emily dreads so much, because she is unac- 
quainted with them, you could fashion out for yourself a 
home, not so dear to you, I well believe, as the one you would 
leave behind, but, nevertheless, as beautiful. Now, I will 
briefly lay before you my plan for carrying this out, should 
you entertain the idea of doing so. In the first place, to 
sell Dalystown, and your other property to advantage, will 
take time ; but I think I can show you, Henry, that it will 
be unnecessary for you to remain, pending this sale. I 
have made calculations which I will go over with you, at 
another time, and I find, that your property, sold, even at 
twenty years’ purchase, would leave you a balance, clear of 
all debts, of three thousand pounds. The two thousand 
pounds secured on the* property to Emily, she will receive 
on becoming of age. Now, Henry, these three thousand 
pounds I will advance to you, taking the entire manage- 
ment of your affairs into my own hands. My solicitor shall 
bring the property to a sale, as judiciously and speedily 
as it can be done ; so you see I will be my own paymaster.” 

“ But suppose, doctor,” said Henry, “ that the property, 
when sold, should not realize the sum you calculate upon.” 

“ I have no fear on that head,” replied the doctor. “ In 
my calculations, I have allowed as high as one thousand, 
pounds for the costs of sale. But should it not, Henryk 
what then ? You, yourself, was witness to a solemn com- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


375 


pact between two old men, whose friendship extended over 
half a century, during all of which time, not one link of 
the ties that bound them, ever rusted or broke. It would 
be beneath you, Henry, to let a false pride debar me of the 
happiness of endeavoring to fulfill the trust that such a 
friendship confided to me. No, we will not adopt this 
course until we have looked at it from every point of view, 
but if you would not wound me, more perhaps, than you 
can well imagine, let the objection you have just raised, 
never more be alluded to. I have another favor to ask ; it 
is of you, Emily. Should Henry decide upon going to 
America, your accompanying him, in the first instance, 
would be most injudicious. Much as he might wish to 
have you with him, still, a continual anxiety about you, a 
nervous watching after your comfort, would lessen the pow- 
er of free action so necessary to him, on landing in a strange 
country. Will you not, then, my dear child, should Henry 
decide on going, (of course with your approbation,) make 
the Grove your home, until he shall be enabled to return 
for you ?” 

“ Ah, doctor,” she replied, “ should Henry leave me, 
where else would I find a home.” 

“I thank you, love, for that answer. I put the question 
simply, and simple and full has your answer been. To- 
morrow, my dear young friends, I will be here again, ac- 
companied by Mrs Kelly. We will discuss this matter over 
at our leisure; there are many minor points I have not 
touched upon to-night, and I will show you, Henry, the cal- 
culations I have made. Ililloa! where is Edward? I did 
not miss him.” 

“ He has been out of the room for some time,” answered 
Emily. 

“ He is a noble boy — a fine fellow,” said the doctor. 

1 love him as a brother,” said Henry. 

“ It is a very true saying,” remarked Doctor Kelly, “ that 
our affections always lean to those we have served ; but, 
irrespective of this, he well deserves your friendship ” 

“ And you remember, doctor, the promise which I made 
to him. In our plans for the future, he must not be over- 
looked.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


<y 7^5 

ait) 

“No need that he should,” replied the doctor. Fortu- 
nately, he interferes, in no way, with the course I have pro- 
posed. Bring him with you, Henry. In this country he 
might he a burthen to you ; in America, you would find 
him the greatest assistance and comfort. Ah ! here he comes. 
Where have you been, scapegrace ?” 

“ In the stable, sir.” 

“Not a very good place, Master Edward ; but were I to 
scold you, you might tell me to look nearer home. That 
young scamp of mine, Charley, is continually going to the 
stable’s, on one excuse or another. I unfortunately told the 
young villain, one evening, that when I was a boy I used to 
bribe the groom to allow me to make up my own pony ; so 
now, when I commence to lecture, my incautious admission 
is sure to be flung in my face. Go, Edward, if you please, 
and tell the servant to bring round my gig.” 

When the old man’s gig was announced as at the door, 
he arose to take his departure. 

“My little Emily,” he said, as he kissed her cheek, “will 
be dreaming all night of wild, dark forests, and old doctors 
riding grizzly bears through them.” 

“ Whatever my dreams may be, doctor,” she replied, “ I 
have too much confidence in anything you propose, to dread 
it in my waking hours. Oh! what should we do if we had 
not such a friend to guide us !” 

“ I am but a fallible guide, Emily ; yet I do believe that 
peaceful days would come to you and Henry in the free 
forests of America, until, like the delicate leaves of their 
own maple, hope would assume a golden hue. And now, 
good night again. Henry, remain with Emily ; I insist upon 
it. I want to lecture this young scamp ; come along, Ed- 
ward.” 

“ Edward,” said the doctor, as the former assisted him on 
with his top coat, “have you heard from that scoundrel un- 
cle of yours, since his fatal visit here ?” 

“ No, doctor.” 

“ Has Henry ?” 

“ I am sure he has not,” replied the boy, half frightened 
for his uncle’s name was one of ill omen to him. “ Why do 
you ask, doctor ; have you heard anything of him ?” 


THE^DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 377 

“No, my boy; indeed, I feel pretty sure that he will 
make no attempt to get you back.” 

“ Pie need not,” replied Edward. “ I am no longer the 
dispirited, nervous wretch his cruelty made of me for a 
time. I have now twice his courage, and will iiever again 
submit to be his slave.” 

“What would you think of a sea voyage, Edward ?” asked 
the doctor. 

The boy looked astonished. A little while ago nothing 
would have given him greater pleasure, but, now, he was 
loth to part so soon again with his protector. 

“ In company w T ith Henry,” added the doctor. 

Edward’s face brightened. “ Oh ! doctor,” he exclaimed, 
“ that would be delightful.” 

“ Well, perhaps, Edward, if you had not gone to the stable, 
you would have heard something about it.” 

“ Indeed, doctor, I did not wish to remain in the room, 
when you were speaking on family matters.” 

“ Pooh, boy, you are one of the family now. Go in ; 
perhaps Henry will tell you something you would be glad 
to hear. So, good night, my boy, and in with you.’’ 

“ The shadows of the trees, sir,” said the servant, as they 
drove down the avenue, “ frighten the horse.” 

“ Shadows,” mused the doctor, as he looked back towards 
the house, “ ah, these will pass away with the night ; but, to 
me, a shadow has fallen upon Dalystown which no sun shall 
ever dispel.” 


378 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Baithful to his promise, the doctor and Mrs. Kelly visited 
their friends the next day, at Dalystown. They came early, 
and most of the day was spent in discussing plans for the 
future. Before taking their departure, it was settled that 
Henry should proceed to Dublin, for the purpose of putting 
his affairs in the hands of Doctor Kelly’s solicitor. 

“ He is more honest than the generality of them,” said the 
doctor, “ and in your case, Henry, he will have sympathy 
for you; for he himself is of a good family, though- ” 

“ Though fallen, like my own, doctor, you would say.” 

“J do not know that I was going to say anything of the 
kind,” replied the doctor. “ But be it so ; the more credit 
you will deserve if you raise it up again.” 

This conversation took place in front of the house, and 
for some time Henry did not speak, after Doctor Kelly’s last 
remark. His glance seemed to be taking in the land- 
scape around him. 

Now, his eyes rested on the house, with its curious style 
of architecture ; (additions had been put to it from time to 
time, according to the tastes of its proprietors, without 
much regard to uniformity ; but its gray front, zigzag abut- 
ments, and quaint little towers were more beautiful in Hen- 
ry’s eyes than the most perfect Grecian or Gothic architec- 
ture ;) then his looks wandered over the noble park, with its 
green-sward and majestic trees. How many of his race had 
lived and died here since these were but twigs ; yes, old 
and mighty as they were now, they had been planted by a 
Daly of Dylystown, but what name should witness their de- 
cay ? “ So help me, Heaven l” exclaimed Henry, raising his 
hat from his throbbing temples, as with kindling eyes, he. 
looked around upon the familiar scene, “I will return to 
£laim you.” 

“ Right, my boy,” said the doctor, divining his thoughts, 
“ right, Henry ; success is half achieved when it is bravely 
anticipated.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


379 


What was it that had so suddenly revived the young man’s 
energies, renewing hope in his breast. But yesterday he 
had gazed upon this self-same scene with listless eye, re- 
signed to part with his ancestral home without a thought of 
struggling to win it back ; now his very frame quivered with 
the power he felt within himsef to achieve much more than 
this. What had wrought this change ? Love ! love, which 
sorrow had seemingly dethroned for a brief space, again re- 
sumed its empire, and all the noble passions were swayed 
and strengthened by it. Nor was Doctor Kelly unmindful 
when he made his proposal to Henry, that the very name of 
America would be likely to act as a talisman in rousing the 
latter from the lethargic state of mind he had fallen into 
after his father’s death. 

Rose O’Donnell was in America ; again he should behold 
her, again she should listen to him, pleading, — not now, as 
the heir of an ancient house, — but a wanderer like herself, 
in a strange land and amongst a people who acknowledged 
only the aristocracy of nature; and his heart told him he 
would not plead in vain. 

It was not, as yet, definitely settled upon, that Henry 
should go to America, — at least by the others, because the 
doctor would not allow it to be so, until Emily had time to 
think over the step in her own mind. The idea, so new at 
present, appeared to her almost like a dream. Not so, 
Henry. The first night Doctor Kelly had proposed it, the 
former had remained for hours, after he had retired for the 
night, pacing up and down the room. 

“ Strange,” he murmured to himself, “ that I never thought 
of this before ; ah, not strange. Surely I could not have 
thought of anything since my poor father’s death. Oh ! 
father ! ever, ever beloved and mourned, forgive this happi- 
ness I feel stealing to my heart. Emily too, to go to Amer- 
ica ! I never could have dreamed of such a thing, and pa:t 
from her, I would not; yet, see how easily this good, wise 
friend of ours arranges it.” 

It was late in the night when he lay down to sleep, in the 
hope of dreaming of Rose O’Donnell. That he would have 
any difficulty in finding out her retreat, in America, never 
once occurred to him, ii*the first hours of his newly-awak- 
25 


380 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ened hopes. Indeed, none of us islanders ever do or can 
realize an idea of the magnitude of this continent, until 
we have traveled over large portions of it. Study it as one 
will, on the map, he has, after all, but the blind man’s con- 
ception of a tube and ball ; give him, — we are told, — his 
sight, and he will not be able to judge by it, which is the 
tube or which the ball. So with us, who have been ac- 
customed to live in the small compass of our island home ; 
on arriving here, we find how little our previous knowledge 
had prepared our minds for the boundless forests, wide- 
spreading prairies and ocean lakes, which stretch on every 
side, awfully grand and sublime, in their immensity. 

A friend of mine related to me a ludicrous story, bearing 
somewhat on this. A poor woman, in his neighborhood, in 
Ireland, hearing that he was about to come to this country, 
called upon him, and requested, that when he met her hus- 
band here, he would inform him how badly off she was. 

“ Tell him, your honor,” she said, “ that if he was such an 
unfortunate blackguard as to marry another, and his own 
lawful wife alive, I don’t want to go next or near him ; but 
he ought to send some relief to his own children.” 

“ But what chance have I of meeting with your husband, 
my good woman ?” said the gentleman, “ a man, too, that I 
have never seen.” 

“Oh!” she replied, “you’ll be sure to meet with him, 
somewhere, for he was always a rover, and must be well 
known in those parts by this time ; and for knowing him, 
I’ll give your honor his marks and tokens. He’ll be gone, 
next candlemas, fourteen years ; he had sandy hair, wanted 
a front tooth, and his name is Lacky.” 

Up to the time I last saw my friend, he had not met with 
the rover, Lacky; I trust if he ever does, that he will knock 
his remaining front teeth down his throat. Thank God, an 
Irishman deserting his wife is a thing almost unknown, and 
I have hope that Lacky’s seeming desertion was caused by 
his being summoned to a place where a tooth more or less 
can make no possible difference to him. 

I hope I will be pardoned for the many little digressions 
I fall into, as I proceed with my story, I say little, because 
they are as nothing compared to the thousand-and-one that 
are ever tempting me, I 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


381 


“ Oh, for goodness sake, stop, 5 ' exclaims one of my fair 
readers. “ Have pity and give me no more of your personal 
pronouns. Let me hear something of Henry ; you left him 
just when he was becoming a little interesting.” 

I left him asleep, ma’am, and I ask you, in the name of del- 
icacy, not to disturb him. Should I bring him before you 
now it would destroy the romantic feeling with which, I am 
rejoiced to think, you are beginning to regard him — for his 
nightcap is slightly pulled down over one eye, and his mouth 
is wide open. Ah ! there goes my poor book into the fire, 
while the “ Mysterious Elopement” occupies its place. So 
much for being natural. 

It was arranged that Emily and Edward Yaughan should 
go to the Grove on the same day that Henry left for Dublin, 
and remain there until his return ; this was what Emily and 
Henry supposed, but, in truth, the old doctor did not intend 
that they should return to Dalystown to live. Under pres- 
ent circumstances, whatever their future course might be, 
to remain in Dalystown would be speedy ruin to them, and 
knowing how bitter their grief would be, if he proposed that 
they should, at once, take their final departure from it, he 
adopted this method to wean them from their home and its 
old associations. Thus, on the day of their departure, they 
were spared the heart agony they would have felt did they 
know they were bidding Dalystown a long farewell. 

On arriving in Dublin Henry was pleased to find Mr. Carroll 
(Doctor Kelly’s solicitor) a gentleman, not by law, but by 
birth, education and feeling. He soon became interested 
in Henry, and gave the utmost attention to a statement of 
his affairs, which the latter laid before him. 

“ And now, Mr. Carroll,” said Henry, as he sat in the attor- 
ney’s office, on the fourth day after his arrival in Dublin, 
u What do you advise ?” 

U I believe our friend, the doctor, takes the wisest view,” 
replied Mr. Carroll. “ He has a great horror, Mr. Daly, of my 
profession.” 

He certainly has not a very high opinion of some of its 
members.” 

“ Perhaps he is right, and yet, if there were not roguish 
clients, we would not have so many roguish attorneys.” 


382 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWlf. 


“ It would be a poor defence, Mr. Carroll, for a man to 
make; that he broke into a house because another told him 
to do so.” 

“ Very true ; but I do not say it in defence of those who 
disgrace the profession, but merely to show you that half 
the crowd, who shout ‘stop thief,’ are thieves themselves. 
Now, if you wish, you can prevent your property from be- 
ing sold for years.’* Lord Eldon said, ‘ that if a man sat 
upon his title deeds, he could defy the world ; but your ob- 
ject is, to pay the debts that incumber your property, and 
not to avoid doing, so.” 

“ Surely,” replied Henry, in a surprised tone, “ you must 
take for granted that such is my wish and intention.” 

“Yes,” replied the attorney, “ now that I know you, and 
all about you ; otherwise I could not take anything of the 
kind for granted ; for I assure you, Mr. Daly, we rogues of 
attorneys often receive very different instructions from our 
honest, honorable clients.” 

“ If you except me from the generality of clients, I hope 
you will do yourself equal justice, in reference to attorneys” 

“ Thank you ; the best guarantee you can have of my 
dealing fairly by you, is that I enjoy Dr. Kelly’s confidence. 
How does he look ?” 

“ My poor father’s death seems to have preyed upon him 
much.” 

“ Ah, yes, I can understand that. They were very old 
friends. Well, Mr. Daly, my advice to you is, sell your 
property, before you allow it to approach the Court of 
Chancery.” 

“As your views and Dr. Kelly’s fully coincide in this,” 
said Henry, “ and are shared in by myself, I look upon the 
matter as decided, and will write to the doctor to that effect. 
He seems to think I should push my fortunes in the new 
world. What think you of it ?” 

“ The doctor mentioned something about it, in his letter 
to me. But you can’t have my opinion on that subject in my 
office.” 

“ Why so ?” 

“I might be tempted to charge you six-and-eightpence 


*lhe law, in this respect, has been altogether changed. 


THE DALYSOF DALYSTOWN 


383 


for it, and we are told to avoid temptation. Come and dine 
with me, and we will discuss the matter over our wine.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Henry, “ I will do myself the pleas- 
ure.” 

As he was leaving Mr. Carroll’s office, the latter said: 
“ Don’t he later than six, Mr. Daly. Every man has his 
oddity ; mine is, to see my friends at six, sharp.” 

“It is a very amiable one,” replied Henry. “ That is the 
very hour some people would just as soon not see their 
friends.” 

Emily’s visit to her friends at the Grove did much to re- 
store her — not, indeed, to the cheerfulness which was nat- 
ural to her, but to tranquility of mind. When first she went 
amongst them, her grief, though poignant, was unobtrusive, 
she was calm and uncomplaining ; too much so, the doctor 
feared, for he held, with Shakspeare, that 

“ The grief that does not speak, 

Whispers the o’erfranght heart, and bids it break.” 

All that love and kindness could achieve, was done by Mrs. 
Kelly and the doctor, to comfort her. Skillfully did they 
perform their part, for the good have ever an innate talent 
for such ministering. The boys, too, did their best to amuse 
her ; even little Fanny had a misty idea that something had 
happened to Emily, for, after taking out innumerable toys, 
and taking from Noah’s ark all the animals of creation, (I 
hope Noah turned them out in a more perfect condition as 
to limbs,) and finding such magnificent wonders failed to 
interest the young girl, the child would (as if suddenly awed 
by a fear she could not comprehend) desert her toys, and, 
stealing noiselessly to Emily’s side, place her little fingers 
on the black dress, and then raise her big blue eyes, with a 
wondering expression in them, to the other’s face. At such 
times, Emily would snatch the child up in her arms, and 
press her to her bosom, whilst tears fell upon the baby- 
face upturned to her own, and Fanny would pout, and en- 
deavor to soothe the sorrow she could not understand. 

“ Don’t cry, Emily,” she would say, u oh, don’t, don’t ; if 
you cry, little Fanny will cry too.” 

When Emily had been at the Grove some days, Doctor 
Kelly persuaded her to go out for a walk, with his two eld- 


384 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


est grandsons and Edward Yaughan. After a little, she 
began to like those rambles ; the first days, they were con- 
fined to the neighborhood of the house, but soon became 
longer. Sometimes Fred and Fanny were of the party, and 
never was fair ladye escorted by more devoted knights, 
valorous withal, for woe betide the dog that barked at them 
as they passed. Edward Yaughan generally walked by 
Emily’s side, and though there was but little difference in 
their ages, yet is there a great disparity between a boy of 
sixteen and a girl of eighteen, so Emily treated him with 
the same freedom she did Charley and James, whilst feel- 
ing for him the affection of an elder sister. Bather dan- 
gerous this, for the susceptible boy. 

When first he emerged from his uncle’s dark den, into the 
light of her presence, he could scarcely believe her to be of 
the same species as his bearded aunt; fora strong down, (if 
you will,) ornamented that good lady’s upper lip, giving 
her, at times, when her cap sat awry on her head, rather a 
reckless, military look. Her coarse voice was almost still 
ringing in his ears, when Emily Daly’s silvery tones went 
warbling to his heart. In the bewilderment of his new joy, 
he almost looked upon her as something more than mortal. 
Now, as he walked by her side, stealing glances at her 
dovelike eyes, his feelings were different ; she was, indeed, 
still an angel, but one whose heaven he would like to share. 

“ But this was a secret that should go with him to the 
grave,” and he heroically buttoned his jacket over it. How 
he blushed and stammered, immediately after, when Emily 
asked him if he felt cold. 

“ Oh, no, not at all, anything but cold,” and forthwith the 
jacket flew open, but the secret remained within. 

Neither Charley or James felt any jealousy at Edward’s 
keeping so continually by Emily’s side, during their walks. 
The former contented themselves by acting as skirmishers 
to the party, falling back, continually, on the main body, 
with flowery spoils, or to point out some wonderful leap 
taken by Charley on James’s pony, Charley making very 
light of the matter, whilst James was boisterous in his 
eulogiums of his pony and his brother’s horsemanship. On 
one of those occasions, Emily happened to remark how 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


385 


fond she was of riding on horseback, whereupon little Fred, 
who was one of the party, volunteered, in great excitement, 
to catch a donkey, grazing in a field adjoining, for the 
special behoof and benefit of Emily. The little fellow spoke 
so energetically and so thoroughly in earnest (for he felt 
himself somewhat put in the shade by his brothers, and 
their wonderful feats,) that Emily laughed outright. 

It was the first time the boys had heard her laugh since 
her arrival at the Grove, and in very sympathy they shouted 
with mirth. 

“ Oh, Fred,” said Charley, “ to think that Emily would ride 
a donkey.” 

“I heard grandpapa saying,” replied the discomfited 
Fred, “ that the first time he saw grandmama she was rid- 
ing on a donkey. Now, Master Charley !” 

“ But that was years ago,” answered his brother, “ and 
grandmama was but a little child then.” 

Poor Fred thought that the precedent he had adduced 
would have brought him off, but it only made Emily and the 
boys laugh the more; whereupon he indignantly turned 
and made tracks for home. Emily called to him to return, 
and even made a vague promise to mount the donkey, but 
the very mention of the now hated animal, made him, if 
possible, increase his speed. 

A month elapsed and letters from Henry announced his 
speedy return home. Emily showed hers to their trusty 
friend. 

“ Its purport is much the same as the one I have received,” 
said the doctor. You see, Emily, his mind is made up to 
go to America, if you consent ; it now rests with you whether 
he will do so or not. What do you say, my child ?” 

“ Advise me, dear doctor, I am as incapable of deciding 
the question as litile Fanny.” 

“First let me ask you, Emily, if you dread the idea ; is it 
repugnant to you and would your consenting to the step 
be solely for Henry’s welfare, at the expense of your own 
feelings and happiness? Is this your idea of it? If so, we 
could scarcely ask you to make such a sacrifice, even con- 
vinced, as I am, that your opinion would be altered by ex- 
perience.” 


3S6 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


It was sometime before the young girl replied. She seemed 
to be examining her own feelings to enable her to give the 
doctor a truthful answer. At length she said: 

“ If I thought it impossible for Henry to keep Dalys- 
town.” 

“It is, my child,” said the doctor, interrupting her ; “ the 
attempt to do so would be ruin to him.” 

“Then,” she answered, “of the two, to remain in this 
country after Halystown is sold, or to leave it, I prefer the 
latter, and America is the country I would select to go to. 
My reason for this has nothing of self in it, for all places 
will be alike to me when we part with beloved Dalystown.” 

“I understand you, Emily. They deserve, indeed, to be 
rewarded, for both have acted nobly.” 

“ And now, doctor,” continued the young girl, “you have 
my truthful answer ; one, too, not lightly given, though I 
confess, when you first proposed the step, I was frightened 
at the very idea.” 

“ I saw you were,” replied the doctor, “ but I expected 
that you would, because it was so new and strange to your 
mind. I have advocated this course, Emily, although I but 
intended to suggest it ; but I have been led, almost uncon- 
sciously, to do so, feeling convinced it is the one most likely 
to lead to success and happiness. I never doubted but that 
the proposal would be acceptable to Henry. I now rejoice 
that it is so to you ; haply you have ever been joined too 
closely in the bands of love to allow of my separating your 
interests in my own mind. Now, my love, I wish to speak 
to you of Henry’s return from Dublin. He says we may 
expect him in a week. Do you not think, Emily, that it 
would be unwise for either of you to return to Dalystown ?” 

“ Surely, doctor,” she replied, “ we must do so. We have 
much to prepare, much to do, before we bid it a sad fare- 
well.” 

“ All which can be done, Emily, without your going to 
reside there.” 

Emily remained silent, she knew hot w T hat to answer. 
She felt that she could scarcely forego the melancholy 
pleasure of roaming over, for a brief time, scenes so hallow- 
ed by early associations ; in resting her steps, for a little, in 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


387 


her old world ere she turned them towards the new and un- 
known one before her. 

Dr. Kelly remarked her hesitation, and, for the present, 
forbore to press her for an answer. “ Well,” he said, “ we will 
compromise the matter. Let Henry come here, in the first 
instance, and we can consult together on the subject.” 

This, Emily agreed to, and in a week afterwards the 
Dublin coach dropped Henry at the Grove gate. All the 
family, with Emily and Edward, were there to meet him, 
every voice and face, said welcome home; yet Henry’s 
voice failed him, when he would have thanked his friends, 
for he remembered his last return from Dublin. He missed 
one. form that then came forth to meet him, and lips that 
then welcomed him, were now mute in death. The same 
tho#ght was busy in Emily’s mind, and when her brother 
folded her in his arms, she laid her head upon his breast, 
and wept. 

There was no ill-timed interference with their grief, no 
misplaced attempt to soothe it ; the doctor, and his party, 
leading the way to the house and allowing Henry and his 
sister to follow slowly after. 

The next day, Dr. Kelly, held a long conversation with 
them, in his study, one of the results of which was, that the 
young people abandoned the idea of returning to Dalystown, 
to reside ; it was also settled that Henry should forthwith 
prepare for his departure to America, from which he was to 
return for his sister, at the expiration of a year. 

The breaking up of the establishment at Dalystown, was, 
of course, a necessary consequence to all this, and, in a short 
time, the old place became lonely and deserted ; none of the 
many to whom it had given a home, remaining in it but the 
steward, who was left in charge. Dr. Kelly took all the 
stock, including the horses, at a valuation, except Emily’s 
mare, and Fox, Henry having insisted on Anthony O’Kelly’s 
accepting the latter, as a parting present. 

The furniture, Henry retained. 

“Let it remain where it is, doctor,” he said, “until a stran- 
ger comes to claim the old place. If I ever return to have 
a home in Ireland, I would have this furniture in it.” 

It was sad work, this breaking up of the old establishment ; 


388 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


this tumbling down of household gods and loosening of do- 
mestic ties. It was a sad time when the servants came to 
the Grove, to take a weeping farewell of their young mis- 
tress. None went away without receiving substantial to- 
kens of remembrance both from Emily and Henry. But 
the old retainers of the family — those who had grown gray 
in its service — were not allowed, now that their services 
were no longer required, to go adrift upon the world. The 
stock, &c., had been valued at one thousand pounds, and a 
portion of this money Henry proposed to leave in Doctor 
Kelly’s hands, to be given to them in small yearly pensions. 
It was a task mightily pleasing to the old man ; but not con- 
tent to be merely the almoner of others, he gave to those of 
them that age incapacitated from further service, cottages 
on his own property. But there was one amongst the^ re- 
tainers that it was difficult to devise any plan by which he 
could be provided for ; one too, for whom Henry and his 
sister felt the most, — this was Tom Gallaher. He was strong 
and young enough to work, ’tis true, but Tom would not 
take service under a king ; his allegiance was given to the 
Dalystown family, and could never be transferred to others. 
Few would require less than Tom, for his wants were small, 
indeed, but how to reconcile him to leaving Dalystown, 
was the difficulty. His master’s death had alfected him to 
such an extent as to weaken, if not to destroy, the little in- 
tellect he ever had. Since that event, he had spent his 
time in rambling about the place, without seeming to no- 
tice anything, or anybody, not excepting Henry. Whilst 
the latter and Emily remained at Dalystown, Tom went, as 
usual to the postoffice, but his doing so was a mere mechan- 
ical action, which he was scarcely conscious of performing; 
he no longer, after his return from the village, made mirth 
in the servant’s hall, by a recital of his adventures. When 
he returned with the mail-bag, he spent the remainder of 
the day strolling about the fields, or through the stables. 
Sometimes as he walked listlessly along, he would start, and 
return to the house with long strides, as if he had suddenly 
remembered something he went to seek, but long before he 
reached it, the idea, whatever it was, would be forgotten, 
and he retraced his steps, or remained in the yard, looking 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


389 


about him, with a vacant, listless eye. When Emily first 
went to the Grove, Tom was there every day, but he never 
remained long; he was always fidgety and uneasy until he 
saw her, after which he would return to Dalystown, in great 
haste, no persuasion being able to induce him to remain 
away from it a day. To the entreaties of the boys to stay 
at the Grove, he would answer, 

“Faith, children, you’re foolish, and doesn’t know what 
you’re axing. Sure, I can’t be away from the place any 
time ; by dad its too long away I am already. Go in, Mr. 
Charley, and God bless you, and tell Miss Emily I want to 
see her on a little business.” 

When Emily made her appearance, the poor fellow’s face 
would brighten up, his business with her being always the 
same : “ When will you come home, Miss Emily, and where 
is Mr. Henry?” 

“ Did I not tell you yesterday, Tom, that he was in Dub- 
lin ?” 

“In Dublin! aye, but I disremembered it. You’re sure, 
Miss Emily, he’s there ?” 

“Yes, Tom. Why do you ask?” 

“ Oh, nothing now; I know you’re telling me the truth. 
And when will he be back, Miss Emily?” 

“ Soon, I hope, Tom.” 

“Well, miss, that’s what I wanted you for, and I’ll be go- 
ing home now.” 

“ Dr. Kelly is vexed, Tom, that you will not remain here.” 

“Faith, that’s quare enough, miss. How could I, and the 
poor place so lonely in itself? Faith, its too many of us 
that’s out of it already.” And away Tom would start, at a 
round trot, for Dalystown. 

But when he witnessed the breaking up of the establish- 
ment there, his grief became pitiable, and he seemed to 
dread the idea of leaving the place even for an hour. Hen- 
ry, at first not noticing this, had employed him on some er- 
rands ; but he soon perceived with what reluctance he went 
on such when they led him any distance from the house, 
as if he feared the place itself would disappear if he lost 
sight of it. It would have been hard to guess what his feel- 
ings towards Henry were at this time. It appeared as if his 


390 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


attachment to his young master struggled with the horror 
he felt at his desertion of Dalystown. All that he saw 
going on was a horrible nightmare on his clouded mind. 
One idea, however, had become fixed the're : the death of 
his old master had brought about all these misfortunes, 
itself the greatest of them all. And the steward told Doc- 
tor Kelly (but the circumstance was carefully concealed 
from Emily and Henry,) that of late Tom was in the habit 
of rising at early morning, and taking his seat upon a large 
stone in the yard, which was used as a mounting block, 
where he would commence the Irish cry, continuing it un- 
til he perceived that those within the house had arisen. It 
was the only way the simple, faithful fellow had to unbur- 
then his heart of a portion of the grief that pressed upon it. 
And long after, when the name of Godfrey Daly was seldom 
heard in the place where the most part of his life had been 
spent, when his memory was fast fading from the minds of 
men, the cry of sorrow rose from the lone, deserted place, 
ere yet the sun of a new day had arisen, to look down upon 
the fresh graves that yesterday had made. 

Methinks, to the released spirit — if it can look back to 
the world it has left — the grief of one human heart, un- 
changed through the long years that have changed all 
things around — fresh when the chiseled lines on the tomb- 
stone have become filled with moss, must be more grateful 
than the proudest marble monument that man has ever 
erected. Perchance, too, the tears we dry while here, re- 
turn to some human channels to fall upon our graves and 
cleanse them from the stains of earth. 

Henry mentioned to Dr. Kelly how uneasy he felt about 
Tom. 

“ Grief,” he said, “has deprived him of any little intel- 
lect he ever had, and makes him quite unmanageable. I 
really do not know what can be done with him.” 

The best thing to do,” replied the doctor, “ is to leave 
him, for the present, with the steward ; indeed, it is the 
only course ; for were you to bring him to the most distant 
part of the kingdom, he would find his way back to Dalys- 
town. It would be cruel, at present, to disturb him. Should 
a stranger come to reside at Dalystown, I think Tom would 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


391 


leave of his own accord, and I will then try to coax him to 
come live here ; one thing I promise you, not alone in my 
own name, hut likewise, in the name ot my grandchildren, 
Tom shall never want for a home.” 

This, of course, quited Henry’s uneasiness. It is said, 
somewhere, u that all leave-taking should he brief ; if this 
be so, I do not see but that the records of them should be 
brief, likewise. 

In the papers before me, there is, indeed, much about the 
time which Henry spent at the Grove, ere he took his de- 
parture for America ; they were written by one who loved 
to dwell upon the smallest incident that then occurred, for 
in those days, love and friendship had grown jealous of 
time, and watched lest it should rob them of a moment; 
bnt they were never intended to be made public, and 
though it has been a pleasure to me to open these little 
caskets of trifles, to look for the gems concealed within 
them, I could scarcely expect that the general reader 
would find an equal interest in following me. 

It was July, before Henry had completed his preparations 
for his departure, and yet, they were not many ; but we are 
apt to linger, as we loosen the ties which bind us to home, 
kindred, and country. He had to spend a week at Crea- 
ren, with the O’Kellys ; there were many others, too, whom 
he had to call upon, for at such a time mere acquaintances 
come closer to the heart than they were wont to do, and we 
grasp the proffered hands of those whom we were accustom- 
ed to pass with a distant salute. It is probable, that, as the 
time drew near for her brother’s departure, Emily’^ spirits 
would have sank under this second trial, had not Hr. Kelly 
been near, to console and encourage her. Reverencing the 
old man, as she did, his* words had for her all the weight of 
prophecy, and when he added to some hopeful augury, 
“ believe me, Emily, this will come to pass,” she believed, 
as if it had come from inspired lips. 

It is astonishing how much we lighten our own pack by 
putting a hand, now and then, to our neighbor’s ; it is pitia- 
ble how little we seem to comprehend or care for this great 
truth ; we jog on, in life’s journey, regardless of the fate of 
our fellow traveler, who drops, wearied and exhausted, by 


392 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


our side, when, perhaps, a touch, light as that which bringB 
a sinking body to the surface of the water, would have sus- 
tained him. 

In comforting and supporting others, the old man’s 
strength of mind and body returned to him ; the ruddy glow, 
that became him so well, came back to his face, and, as he 
bustled about, superintending everything, leaving nothing 
undone, that could tend to the comfort of the traveler, he 
regained his former elasticity of step. 

As for the packing of trunks, he had insisted on Emily’s 
taking that department on herself, and he was very strict in 
seeing she did not idle ; he himself superintending her la 
bors ; sometimes commanding, at other times scolding ; one 
day, he even went so far as to fling a traveling cap at her; 
and the old man’s eyes grew moist from pleasure, as he saw 
her obliged to sit down on the trunk she had been packing, 
and give way to a merry peal of laughter. 

Edward V aughan sometimes assisted Emily in her labors, 
shutting down the lids of trunks, with mighty efforts, when 
nothing more, by any possibility, could be got into them, 
and taking an opportunity, as he corded them, to show 
Emily various sailor’s knots. He was in the greatest de- 
light at the idea of the voyage, in company with Henry, and 
for one who had never seen, or read much about America, 
his descriptions of it, and the scenes and adventures through 
which they were to pass, were vivid and glowing ; but, I 
fear, not a whit more truthful (though more j>leasing,) 
than those given by English travelers on their return home 
from this country. 

If I ever come to have regal sway over a continent,, or 
even, like Sancho Panza, am made a governor of an island 
I will make it a fundamental law, that no roving, growling 
Englishman shall enter my territories, unless he declares 
before hand that he will not publish a book of travels, or 
in other words, that he will not burlesque the country and 
people whose hospitality he claims. 

I remember once paying a visit to a penny show, in the old 
country, — I do not mean to say that pennies were so scarce 
there that they were exhibited. Before the performance 
commenced, the showman requested of his audience, that if 


TEE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


393 


they saw anything which pleased them they would cheer, 
in order to attract the attention of outsiders, who still hes- 
itated to invest capital in the speculation ; but we saw noth- 
ing to please us, so we did not cheer. “ My good people,” 
said the showman, “ whether you are pleased or not, be 
pleased to shout.” That was enough, we were an Irish au- 
dience, and up to this it had been rather tantalizing to have 
no opportunity to shout ; now here was a legitimate one. 
By doing so we would benefit the man who had falsely de- 
luded us into his show, asserting that the Queen and Prince 
Albert had expressed themselves highly pleased with it; it 
would be, figuratively, piling hot pennies on his head ; so we 
cheered until the canvass sides of the show bulged out. At 
the first cheer, the showman placed his eye to a hole in the 
canvass, to mark its effect. Turning his head every now and 
then to us, he. exclaimed, “ shout again — shout again — shout 
away my hearties when he found the audience becoming 
exhausted, and the steam outside at bursting heat, he said : 
“ Tank ye’s, the performance is over.” 

As we went down the rickety steps from the platform, we 
encountered our victims rushing up, and in a short time 
their shouts, like ours, were heard far and near. Now the 
traveling Englishman does the reverse of this. From the 
time he sets foot upon these shores, until he leaves them, 
he does nothing but growl at everything which has not the 
Sheffield or Manchester brand upon it. Whether he is 
pleased or not, he is pleased to growl; and the consequence 
is, that by the time he reaches home, he has accumulated 
a quantity of bile it would take old Parr’s prolonged exist- 
ence to remove, which he bespatters over folios of fair paper, 
in lies, green, yellow and black. 

There was one visit which Henry had to make, in compa- 
ny with his sister, and which had been left for the last. It 
was to their father’s grave. Mrs. Kelly had come to know 
of it, and mentioned the subject to her husband. 

“You should try and persuade them not to go, James,” 
she said ; “ I fear it will affect them too much.” 

“No, no, Mary,” he replied, “it is much better that they 
should go ; it would cause them many a pang in after years 
if they neglected to do so. I am glad, Mary, they have 


394 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


not neglected it ; I should have been disappointed were it 
otherwise. When do they go ?” 

“ I believe, to-morrow.” 

“ Then make no remark about it ; let there be as little 
notice as possible taken of their going or returning. I do 
not think they can accuse themselves of one act of disobe- 
dience to him while living ; the grief of such children, stand- 
ing by a father’s grave, is deep indeed, but never bitter. 
Of the two, Mary, this visit will be soothing in its effects.” 

And so they went and returned. Mrs. Kelly, with a 
woman’s sympathy, remarked .Emily’s pale cheek as she en- 
tered the house, and followed the young girl to her room. 

Emily answered the old lady’s enquiring look. “Dear 
Mrs. Kelly,” she said, U I have not suffered as much as I 
thought I would, for even as we knelt by his grave, our 
thoughts and eyes were turned towards heaven.” 

And now the day has actually arrived that is to witness 
the departure of Henry Daly and Edward Vaughan. It 
broke upon the world, bright and joyous, fresh and young, 
as when God said, “let there be light;” beautiful as when 
Adam awoke in Eden, and saw Eve ! The crimes, the sor- 
rows, the graves of earth, had never yet dimmed it with a 
cloud. 

None of the family at the Grove have slept the night be- 
fore, and they now sit down to an early breakfast, but no 
one eats. There is little spoken ; the doctor tells Henry he 
should try and eat something, and, to set him the example, 
he puts a large cut of toast upon his own plate ; but he for- 
gets to eat it, and after cutting it into small pieces, com- 
mences to feed his dog with them. Mrs. Kelly’s hand 
shakes so that she has been near scalding little Fanny, who 
finding herself, for the first time in her life, neglected 
by every one, and tired of walking round and round the 
table in the vain hope of attracting the notice of somebody, 
sits down in a corner of the room and complains of the mat- 
ter to her doll. The doll, remaining stoically indifferent to 
the entire matter, is soundly whipped and left in the cor- 
ner, while Fanny endeavors to drag “Beauty” out of the 
room, from the advantages she is reaping by her master’s 
absence of mind. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


395 


Presently all rise from the table — it is mockery to remain 
at it any longer — and the doctor, taking Henry’s arm, they 
both leave the room. Emily watches them from the win- 
dow, as they walk up and down before the house, the 
doctor speaking with great energy and Henry attentively 
listening ; in a short time they enter the room again ; the 
doctor leads Henry up to where Emily stands, and letting 
go his arm, brother and sister are left for a few minutes 
alone together. 

Yes, they have but a few minutes, and yet it is surprising 
how little either speak ! Henry’s arm is round Emily’s 
waist, his hand nervously patting the little head that rests 
upon his breast. 

“ Poor, poor Emily — dear — dear sister; courage my own 
love,” is all he can whisper. 

“ You are going from me, Henry. Oh ! I had so much to 
say ; you will tell Rose how I long to call her sister.” 

Such like words, brother and sister exchange. 

Mrs. Kelly and the doctor enter the room. “ Courage, my 
children,” says the latter, advancing with his wife. “ Give 
her to us, Henry ; she is ours, until you return for her,” and 
he draws the young girl gently to himself. “ Mrs. Kelly 
tells me, love, that you wish to go clown to the gate, to see 
Henry oif.” 

“ Oh yes, doctor,” she replies, “ will you not permit me ?” 

“ To be sure I will. Go and get your bonnet, we will all 
go down together. Here wife, bring her along with you. 
Are you not proud of her, Henry? Oh, sir, you did not 
know she had so brave a little heart.” 

It is now time that the coach, which is to convey the 
travelers to Dublin, should be passing, and every one in the 
house (which is left to mind itself,) escorts them down the. 
avenue ; the domestics bringing up the fear at a respectful 
distance. How ofter will this scene be remembered by 
Henry, in his after lonely departure from strange places, 
where it will appear to him that he is the only stranger in 
the crowds which hurry by, laughing, chatting, welcoming 
and bidding good-bye. Before they reach the avenue gate, 
the coach is seen advancing along the road, and Charley 
and James are sent forward to stop it. Fred follows, but 
26 


396 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWU. 


meeting with a butterfly taking a different direction, Fred 
disappears in a neighboring shrubbery. The horses are 
pulled up, and while the luggage is being piled on the roof 
of the coach, three outside passengers, through their vizors 
of dust, gaze upon the little scene passing inside the gate. 

Since the coach stopped, Emily has remained locked in 
her brother’s arms. In the meantime, Edward, laughing 
and crying, is kissing everyone he can lay hands upon ; the 
luggage is all up, the doctor places his hand upon Henry’s 
shoulder. “ Come, my poor fellow,” he says. 

Mrs. Kelly advances on the other side and receives Emily 
in her arms ; then the old man throws his arms around the 
manly form of Henry. “ God almighty bless you, my boy,” 
he exclaims, and bursts into tears. 

While Henry is bidding Mrs. Kelly and the others fare- 
well, Edward approaches Emily ; she presses her lips to his 
and he hurries off and scrambles up on the coach, lest they 
might be profaned by another’s touch. 

Again Henry folds Emily in his arms, to the great chagrin 
of a thorny-looking female who is peering out of the coach 
window, one of those scraggy bushes of humanity that 
never bear blossoms. “Very indelicate,” she exclaims, 
jerking her head into the coach. 

The only other inside passenger is an elderly gentleman, 
who has been traveling all night, and is now enjoying a 
short nap. 

“ It is very indelicate, sir, I think,” says the thorny-faced 
female, raising her voice, and addressing her fellow-passen- 
ger, u this kissing the opposite sex in the open air. (She 
would have had no objection to a little of it inside the 
coach.) Oh ! goodness gracious, did I ever !” 

Her sharp voice awakes the old gentleman ; he gives an 
angry growl, and, stretching out one leg, catches the lady 
on the shin with the toe of his boot. “ Brute,” she exclaims, 
darting a spiteful look, and retreating to the opposite cor- 
ner. This, not very complimentary, epithet is met by the 
old gentleman with a determined snore, which says, as plain 
as snore can, “ don’t vex yourself, old girl, I’m asleep.” 

Henry’s foot is on the step of the coach, when Emily’B 
sobs reach him ; he hurries back and again folds her in his 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


397 


arms. There is a hammer-faced man sitting behind the 
coachman, who has been making a note, in a memorandum 
book, of the delay the latter is permitting, in order to lodge 
a complaint against him. He tells the passenger who sits 
next to him — a diminutive man, and who receives several 
severe bumps in the eye from his neighbor’s elbow, as the 
latter writes — “ that he is thus cautious in noting down all 
the particulars, in order to be able to swear to them, if nec- 
essary.” The fellow is going up to Dublin to swear out a 
chancery affidavit of seventy-two sheets of foolscap, and 
will do so without reading one word of it. Henry’s foot is 
again on the step of the coach, when Anthony O’Kelly and 
his brothers drive up in a dog cart ; they jump out and catch 
his hands. He feels almost ashamed that his young friends 
should see him so unmanned, and hurries up to the top of 
the coach. Joe Lowry has been preparing a seat for him 
beside himself ; he touches his hat respectfully to Henry, 
but does not speak ; he knows why this trip is so different 
from the pleasant ones they used to have, formerly, together; 
he knows all about it, for he and the guard have been dis- 
cussing the matter, with the helper, at'the last stage. Even 
when he sees Henry seated, and has tucked his own oilskin 
wrapper round his legs, he does not say, in his usual confi- 
dent tone, “ all right, sir,” but, u will I go on, Mr. Daly, are 
you ready, sir ?” 

“ Yes, yes, Joe,” Henry hurriedly answers. 

The horses are put in motion, not with Joe’s usual “ yo 
up’s, my darlents,” but with a severe cut of the whip, they 
plunge forward, the wheels turn round, Edward nearly tum- 
bles off the coach as he stands up to wave his cap, the ham- 
mer-faced passenger’s elbow assaults, with renewed vio- 
lence, the diminutive man’s eye, the little group left behind 
wave handkerchiefs, and strain their eyes after the coach 
until it reaches a turn in the road ; gradually it disappears 
round it, and Henry and his fortunes are hidden from their 
view. 

We will leave them, reader, to wend their way slowly 
back to the house ; we will leave them for many a long 
summer’s day, to await, with anxious hearts, for tidings from 
beyond the sea. We will not intrude upon them as they 


398 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


sit, in the long, twilight evenings, conversing on the sub- 
ject ever present to their minds, Emily’s spirits now raised 
as she listens te the doctors hopeful words, now saddened 
as the shadows of evening grow more sombre, and they steal 
in long, dark lines, to her feet. We may not linger with 
them, but take the route their thoughts travel over, and fol- 
low the fortunes of Henry and his young companion. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Henry Daly had determined that his stay in Dublin 
should be as short as possible, so he lost no time in calling 
on Mr. Carroll. Assisted by the latter, he exchanged the 
greater portion of his money for letters of credit on houses 
in New York, and within three days after his arrival in the 
Irish metropolis, he and Edward sailed for Liverpool. 

It was raining when they landed there ; it always is rain- 
ing in Liverpool. I do not say this lightly, nor is the rain 
which falls there, suggestive of light ideas. I have fre- 
quently been in Liverpool, and during my stay, it has never 
ceased to rain. Remarking this as somewhat singular, I 
have questioned hundreds whom I knew to have been there. 
Question. — “What kind of weather had you in Liverpool ?” 
Answer. — “Oh, dreadful, raining all the time.” It was rain- 
ing, as I have said, when our travelers landed, and I have 
no reason to suppose ( but quite the reverse, ) that the 
weather has cleared up since then. 

Fortunately for Henry, he did not belong to that class of 
emigrants whose plundered means — little as they amount 
to, individually, — support a certain class of the inhabitants 
of Liverpool, and it is humiliating to know that there, as in 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


399 


New York and elsewhere, one’s own countrymen act as the 
decoy duck for those sharks*. Germans are invariably em- 
ployed to decoy Germans ; Irishmen, the Irish. The latter, 
too apt to trust, as a friend, the artful villain who addresses 
them in their own beloved language, fall an easier prey 
than the more sober German. 

“Hand me that newspaper, Edward,” said Henry, as they 
two sat at breakfast the morning after their arrival in Liv- 
erpool. “We must see what vessels are about to leave for 
New York, the time of their departure, &c.” 

His voice was cheerful, for when we are separated from 
the visible ties of home and country, our thoughts turn 
more to the future than to the past ; that is on our first set- 
ting forth. In after years, when the tinsel with which hope 
and experience gilds the future has faded away, we turn 
• again to those early ties, and, through a mist of tears, be- 
hold them ever young, beautiful and holy. 

For Hemy, the future held out hopes sufficient to sustain 
him amidst trials and hardships, far severer than any he 
might reasonably anticipate, and he was too young to fore- 
see how many obstacles fate might place in the way of their 
fulfilment. 

“There are three vessels to sail next week,” he said, after 
glancing over the paper. “Now in one of these we will go, 
my boy, so which to choose is the question ; you should de- 
cide this, Edward.” 

“ How are they classed ?” asked the latter. 

“ They appear,” replied Henry, “ about equal tonnage, a.nd 
each is set down, at Lloyd’s as A, 1.” 

And here I put a few questions to the world, individually 
and collectively. Who is Lloyd? Is there such a person 
in the flesh, or is he a myth? If the former, is he a young 
man who never grows old, or an old man who never was 
young?” Has his alphabetical and arithmetical knowledge 
never gone beyond the letter A, and the figure 1, — has any 
one ever seen B, 2, at Lloyd’s ? There, I feel easier now. 

“ We will go down to the docks, Edward,” continued 
Henry, “ and look at these vessels. After all, I suppose one 
is about the same as another, or if there is a difference, that 


*1 have seen this noticed by a German writer. 


400 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


we have little chance of finding it out. What I am most anx- 
ious about, is the kind of captain we are to have. Let’s see 
now, ‘Captain Edward Jackson ;’ 4 Captain James Sweet;’ 
4 Captain John Thompson.’ That last name pleases me 
most, there is something solid and unpretending in it. We 
will see this Captain John Thompson, in the first instance, 
Edward.” 

44 Sometimes the captain does not go on board until the 
vessel is just going to sail,” said Edward. 

44 I know it, but, nevertheless, we will try and find him 
out. One thing I am resolved upon ; not to take passage 
in any vessel until I have seen the captain we are to sail 
with ; so come along and we will call at the office men- 
tioned in this advertisement. We will take it on our way 
to the docks.” 

On reaching the office, they found it crowded with emi- 
grants and their baggage. Some of the former were loung- 
ing round the door, others of them sitting dejectedly on 
their boxes. Here was a poor woman nursing a babe and 
looking at her husband as he forced a pair of n e\y shoes on 
a little boy, while the older ones, already shod, stamped 
about the office. Some half dozen emigrants, who had not 
as yet engaged their passage, were listening to a clerk who 
endeavored to impress upon them how grateful they should 
be to Providence for leading them to that particular office, 
and that they should at once take advantage of their good 
fortune, by securing berths in the J ames Monroe. 44 Anxious 
as they always were,” he said, 44 to study the comfort and 
happiness of emigrants, they seldom had an opportunity of 
doing so on so splendid a scale as this vessel now afforded.” 

There never was such a philanthropist as the clerk of an 
emigrant office. 44 The milk of human kindness ” seems to 
be bottled up in his breast and continually popping out the 
cork, besprinkling all who approach. This is, indeed, be- 
fore the list is filled up, or the vessel has sailed ; after that 
44 there comes a nipping frost,” and the milk becomes con- 
gealed. 

Henry approached this gentleman and enquired for Cap- 
tain Thompson, and if he would he be likely to see him on 
board.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


401 


# <c Captain Thompson was not on board ; he lived a short 
distance out of town, but he usually called at the office 
sometime during the day ; any message left for him he 
should receive.” 

Henry replied “ that he could not well leave a message, as 
he did not know the captain. The fact was, he and his 
young friend were about to take passage for America, and 
he wished to see Captain Thompson relative to the matter.” 

“ Oh, the gentleman wishes to secure two berths in the 
J ames Monroe. Splendid vessel, sir ! All that was man- 
aged by the office, the captain had nothing whatever to say 
about it. Would the gentleman be good enough to look 
over the plan of the vessel ? Cabin passage, of course, — 
two staterooms, as yet not engaged ; fortunately too, the 
very best ; singular, but such chances will occur.” 

When Henry got an opportunity to speak, which was not 
for some time, he replied that “he had not expressed a wish 
to secure two berths in the, James Monroe, for he had not, 
as yet, selected the vessel he should go in. He saw that 
there were three advertised to sail on the following week. 
He certainly should not take passage in any vessel without 
having first seen and conversed with the captain.” 

The clerk looked puzzled ; he felt that his usual mode of 
persuasion would fail with Henry, and yet it would never 
do to let him leave and go, perhaps, to another office. A 
bright idea struck him, suggested by a little wooden cuckoo 
coming out of a small clock, and announcing the hour, after 
which he retired into his house, banging the door to, like a 
rich man’s porter. 

“ Ha ! It was just Captain Thompson’s hour to call ; would 
the gentleman wish to wait for him, — he could do so, in the 
private office. He would find Mr. Bearcroft, one of the 
owners, there.” 

Consenting to wait, Henry, accompanied by Edward, was 
ushered by the clerk into an inner office. 

“A gentleman wishing to procure passage for two, to 
America, Mr. Bearcroft,” said the clerk, to a rather elderly, 
gentleman-like looking man, who sat before a desk. “ The 
gentleman wishes to see Captain Thompson, and I have re- 
quested him to wait.” 


402 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Mr. Bearcroft bowed, pointing at the same time to two 
chairs. 

“ I expect Captain Thompson, sir,” he said, addressing 
Henry, “every moment; in the meantime, while you wait, 
you will find the morning papers on the table,” and he re- 
sumed his pen and ledger. 

“ Certainly the employer and his clerk are two very dif- 
ferent persons,” thought Henry. “ I suppose this is one of 
the prince merchants of England, too proud to attend to the 
trifling details of business.” 

But a moment’s consideration showed him what a very 
false conclusion he might be drawing from the gentleman’s 
reserved manner. His inquiry had been for Captain Thomp- 
son, and Mr. Bearcroft evinced good taste in not taking no- 
tice of the hint which his clerk had given to him. 

Certainly, I must say, that this good taste pervades, to a 
great extent, in England, allowing a man to transact his 
own business as he thinks proper. Henry looked at Mr. 
Bearcroft, but that gentleman kept his eyes fixed on his 
ledger. 

“ It will be rather awkward,” thought Henry, “ if this 
captain should come in without my making any explana- 
tion to this gentleman. Ahem.” Mr. Bearcroft looked up. 

“ The fact is, sir,” said Henry, “ that though my inquiry 
has been for Captain Thompson, I do not know him.” 

“ A letter of introduction, .perhaps?” said Mr. Bearcroft. 

“No, indeed,” replied Henry, smiling, “but I am about 
to go to America, and before I take my passage, I am anx- 
ious, I confess, to know the captain I am to sail with.” 

“ You are quite right,” said Mr. Bearcroft, “ and if you will 
favor me with your name I will do myself the pleasure of 
introducing you to Captain Thompson, when he arrives.” 

“Upon my word,” thought Henry, “ you are about the 
best-bred gentleman I have met with for sometime.” 

He was quite right in this, for to make another feel at 
ease, is the nefllus ultra of good breeding, the opposite to 
which is that vulgar curiosity which fastens on a stranger 
like a hungry musquito. 

We have musquito bars, I wish some one would invent 
impertinent curiosity bars. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


403 


“ My name is Daly,” replied Henry, presenting his card. 

“And you are about to go to America?” said Mr. Bear- 
croft. 

“ Such is my intention ; and this young gentleman ac- 
companies me.” 

“You are not brothers, then?” 

“We are not even relatives, yet we are very close friends, 
and intend to continue so.” 

Mr. Bearcroft regarded them with growing interest. “ I 
trust,” he said, “ we shall secure you as passengers on board 
the 4 J ames Monroe.’ I do not apprehend that our interest 
will suffer from your becoming acquainted with Captain 
Thompson. I wish we had many such captains in the ser- 
vice.” 

He then turned to his ledger, made an entry, and, closing 
the book, entered into an animated conversation with 
Henry and Edward. He seemed much pleased with both 
his visitors, and they felt, in a short time, quite at home 
with him. All three were chatting very merrily together, 
when the door opened and a gentleman entered the room. 
In appearance, he was about fifty years of age ; his features 
were handsome and pleasing, but there was a melancholy 
expression in his face, which Henry afterwards came to know 
was habitual to it, and which had not come there without 
cause. In appearance, he was the very opposite to a jolly 
tar, yet he was a good seaman, and the identical Captain 
Thompson Henry had been inquiring for. 

“Captain Thompson,” said Mr. Bearcroft, rising, “allow 
me to introduce to you this gentleman. Mr. Daly, Captain 
Thompson.” 

Both gentlemen bowed. 

“Shake hands, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bearcroft, “I hope 
you are going to be messmates for some time. Mr. Daly, 
captain, is about going to America, and this is Mr. Edward 
Vaughan, a young gentleman who is to accompany him.” 

The captain took Edward’s hand. As he did so the mel- 
ancholy expression of his face deepened. “ Louis would 
be about his age, now,” he said to Bearcroft. 

“ Yes, yes,” answered the latter, adding quickly, “here is 
Mr. Daly, captain, who would have naught to say to us, until 
he had first seen the rig of the skipper.” 


404 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ I cannot say that, Mr. Bearcroft,” replied Henry, as I 
have had my mind made up for the last half hour to go in 
your vessel. I feel sure that the pleasure of knowing her 
captain, will but strengthen my resolve.” 

“ Come and see the vessel, herself, Mr. Daly,” said the 
captain. “ But how did you escape the pursuasive powers 
of Fisher, the clerk in the outer office ?” 

“ By not caring to listen to him,” replied Henry, laughing. 

“ That fellow’s intriguing and lying to get passengers is 
intolerable, Mr. Bearcroft,” said the captain ; “ he will get 
us all the name of man-catchers.” 

“ All his class are alike,” replied Mr. Bearcroft. Some 
offices encourage them in this kind of thing, I am sure I do 
not. It is wholly unnecessary, too,” he added, addressing 
Henry, “ for freight pays just as well as passengers.” 

“ Well, Mr. Daly,” said Captain Thompson, “I was on my 
way to the docks, when I called in here ; if you come with 
me, I shall be happy to show you the ‘James Monroe,’ and 
the accommodation we can give you on board.” 

“ I will accompany you, captain, but not to satisfy my- 
self any further. If you allow us, myself and my young 
friend will become your passengers.” 

“ What think you of the voyage, young gentleman ?” 
asked the captain of Edward. 

“ Oh, I like the idea very much, sir,” replied the latter. 

“No fear of it, eh ?” 

“ No sir.” 

“ That is right ; we will make a sailor of you before it is 
over.” 

“ He is half one already,” said Henry, “ his father was a 
sailor.” 

“ Ah, indeed !” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Edward, “ I am a sailor’s orphan.” 

“ A sailor’s orphan,” repeated Captain Thompson, regard- 
ing him with much interest, “ then we shall be great friends, 
I hope, for the same hand that left you an orphan, has taken 
from me a son, who, had he lived, would be now about your 
age. Thus it is: some are orphans and some are left child- 
less; but we know that, could we see it, all is wisely done. 
Come, Mr. Daly we will be moving.” 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


405 


As Henry wished Mr. Bearcroft good-bye, the latter said, 

“ During your stay in Liverpool, Mr. Daly, I hope you 
will drop in now and then to see me.” 

“ I certainly shall do myself the pleasure, Mr. Bearcroft.” 

“ And you, my young friend,” continued the merchant, 
as he shook hands with Edward, “ run in when, and as often 
as you please. By the way, where are you stopping ?” 

Henry mentioned the name of his hotel. 

u A first-rate house,” said Mr. Bearcroft, “ but people will 
tire sometimes of their hotel ; when you do so, I shall ex- 
pect to see you.” 

As they walked along, Captain Thompson asked Henry 
if he had known Mr. Bearcroft previously. 

“No,” replied Henry. “It was your name I mentioned 
when I called at the office.” 

“ You had not, then, even a letter of introduction to him.” 

“Certainly not.” 

“I as‘sure you, Mr. Daly,” said the captain, “if you knew 
Mr. Bearcroft as well as I do, you would say that he has 
paid you a great compliment. I know people with whom 
he has transacted business for years, that he has never been 
so familiar with. It speaks very highly of you, for he is a 
good judge of character.” 

“ I have found him a very agreeable gentleman,” said 
Henry. 

“ He is always a gentleman,” replied Captain Thompson, 
“ but generally cold and distant in his manner ; yet, beneath 
that cold exterior, there is a warm heart. Here we are,” 
he continued, as they entered one of the docks. “ Come 
now, my young sailor, which of those is my vessel ?” 

“I hope it is that one,” replied Edward, pointing out a 
vessel. 

“You have hit upon her,” said the captain. “ Now that 
pleases me beyond anything.” 

“ Which one is it ?” said Henry. “ They seem to me all 
alike.” 

“ Oh you land-lubber. Tell him, Master Edward.” 

“This one with the two flags, the Union Jack, and the 
American flag,” said the boy. 

By this time they were close to the vessel. 


406 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWtf. 


“ This is my first time, too, Captain Thompson,” said 
Henry, “to stand in the presence of the American flag.” 

“ Off with your hat then, and do it reverence.” 

Henry laughed and raised his hat. 

“ Right,” said the captain, lifting his own. “ Your first 
time, Mr, Daly, to look upon the stars and stripes !” he con- 
tinued. u Oh, I beheld that flag in its own waters when it 
had scarce strength to flutter.” 

“You have been frequently in America, captain?” 

“ I am an American citizen, young gentleman. I am a 
‘ Boston Boy,’ Mr Daly.” 

Henry looked at Captain Thompson ; the melancholy ex- 
pression of his face had given place to one of enthusiasm. 
His eyes still rested on the flag of his country. 

“ It is such spirits,”- thought Henry, “ that have given its 
young pinions strength to soar so proudly. Alas ! poor Ire- 
land, my beloved country, you may not have even a flag 
for your children to look upon.” 

“Well, Mr. Daly,” said Captain Thompson, as they step- 
ped off the gangway, on board the vessel, “ I bid you and 
your young friend a sailor’s welcome to the James Monroe.” 

The vessels plying at the time I write of, between Liver- 
pool and New York, were, of course, far inferior to those of 
the present day. But ten years had elapsed since the first 
steamer, only two hundred and fifty tons burthen, had cross- 
ed the Atlantic, so that Henry was very agreeably surprised 
by the appearance and accommodation of Captain Thomp- 
son’s vessel, both being much better than he had expected. 
On his saying so, the captain informed him that the James 
Monroe was built for the East India trade, and that the next 
voyage, after the one she was about taking, would be to 
that part of the world. “ Here are the state rooms,” he j 
continued, opening some doors off the cabin. “You can 
have a double one if you please.” 

“ I think we would prefer it,” said Henry. 

“Yes, you will ; it is more pleasant to be together. Here 
is one next to my own, which I will have marked off to you. 
And now you must take a glass of wine with me, to drink 
to out better acquaintance, and a prosperous voyage.” 

When the toast was drank with due honor, Henry said, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


407 


“ You must have much to do, Captain Thomson, as you 
sail so soon, so we will not detain you any longer. Monday 
is the day, I think, mentioned in the advertisement ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And this is Friday,” said Henry rising. 

c * I suppose it is likely we will meet to-morrow,” said the 
captain. “ At all events, Mr. Daly, let the boy come down 
to me, I will be on board all day, and as his taste lies in 
this way, he will find more to amuse him here than at an 
hotel. 

Edward gladly promised to be with the captain early on 
the following day, and shortly afterwards the two friends 
took their departure. They were in high spirits, and, as 
they walked along, Henry said, 

“ Who shall say now, Edward, that there is nothing in a 
name. Was I not right in selecting, Thompson?” 

“Do you think, Henry,” said the boy archly, “ that all the 
Thompsons are like our captain ?” 

“ It is not fair of you, Edward, to try and make me re- 
sponsible for the whole Thompson family.” 

“ And there is Mr. Bearcroft,” continued Edward, “ do you 
think you would have selected that name ?” 

“ Likely not, my boy, I would have thought that there 
was too much of the bear about it. At all events, we have 
been very fortunate up to this, in the acquaintances we 
have made.” 

“My uncle Lyons used to say,” replied Edward, laughing, 
— fflr his old dread of the attorney was long since gone — 
“ that every thing was in blasted luck.” 

Henry’s countenance changed. “Edward,” he said, “let 
that man’s name never be mentioned between us. You, in- 
deed, have no reason to love it; but as for me, the very 
sound of it invokes passions in my breast that I fain, at 
least, would silence — never, I believe, will I be able to ban- 
ish them, altogether.” 

Edward looked at his companion ; his brows were knit and 
his lips quivered. 

“ Oh, pardon me, Henry,” said the boy, “I have angered 
you.” 

“ No, Edward,” replied Henry, “ at least you did not intend 


408 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


to do it. I blame myself for forgetting to speak to you 
on the subject, to make a compact of silence between us as 
to this man’s name. I cannot help regarding him as my fa- 
ther’s murderer. There is blood between us, and, God for- 
give me, were I to allow myself to dwell upon this subject, 
I fear I would be almost a murderer in thought.” 

They walked on in silence for sometime. Henry too much 
agitated, and Edward too much crestfallen, to speak. 

“We were so pleasant and happy just now,” thought the 
boy. But Henry soon recovered his composure, and com- 
menced again chatting with Edward on indifferent subjects. 
A ludicrous incident, which they witnessed, did much to 
restore both of them to good humor, for it made them laugh 
heartily. , 

On turning into a street they encountered an itinerant 
preacher holding forth to a crowd of idlers gathered around 
him. He assured them that they were one and all hasten- 
ing to perdition, yet, still held out hopes of “ the brand 
being snatched from the fire,” and instanced himself as the 
recipient of divine grace. 

“ I was once, my hearers,” he exclaimed, “ as you are ; but 
the light entered here,” and he tapped his chest with the tip 
of his finger, as if pointing at the exact hole through which 
the light had entered. “ I will tell you,” he continued, what 
my life was when I consorted with Satan, and what it is now 
that the light — ” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself, avick,” said a voice in the crowd, 
“ sure the top av your nose shows there’s not a pint of whfsky 
difference.” 

The preacher recognized the Irish brogue, and forthwith 
launched out into a tirade against Popery and “ the scarlet 
woman sitting on seven hills.” 

“ What does he mean, Jack, about that ere woman sitting 
on seven hills ?” said a sailor, who stood next to Henry, ad- 
dressing his companion. 

“ I’m blessed if I know. Bill,” replied the other, “ I expect 
he got a slip at the captain’s bottle, and can’t see his course 
very well.” 

Bill hitched up his trousers and nodded his head, as if 
quite satisfied by his messmate’s explanation. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


409 


“I back my Maggy, Jack,” lie said, “ to have as broad a 
stern as most gals, and I wouldn’t take upon myself to say 
that in full blow she could cover the capstan, not to speak 
of sitting on seven hills.” 

It was about two o’clock when the two friends reached 
their hotel ; the large coffee room was unoccupied when 
they entered it. Edward sat down to read a newspaper, 
but Henry, after taking a few turns up and down the room, 
approached him and said : 

“ Lay down your paper, Edward, I want to make you my 
confidant ; so give all your attention to the confessions of 
Henry Daly.” 

Edward smiled, as he put aside the paper. He guessed 
pretty well what these confessions would be about. 

“I will commence, Edward, by asking you, do you think I 
expect to meet with an old acquaintance in America ?” 

“ Say a sweetheart, Henry,” replied the boy. 

“ Sweetheart,” said Henry, repeating the word, “ that is a 
very loving name. fi I thank thee, J ew, for teaching me that 
word.’ Sweetheart, dear sweetheart Rose, oh ! that sounds 
beautifully. After all, I suppose I have little to confess that 
you, Mr. Slyboots, have not found out already. But I love 
her, Edward — oh, so very, very well. But there is one thing 
perhaps you do not know, and that is, why, loving Rose as 
I do, and having her love in return, we were not married.” 

“No, I never could make out why you were not, or why 
you let her go to America.” 

“ As for the latter, Edward, I knew nothing about it ; even 
if I did, perhaps I could not have prevented it. But I will 
tell you Rose’s reasons for going. She thought, Edward, that 
our love interfered with the happiness of those dear to her; 
that I was surrounded by circumstances over which none of 
us had any control ; that duty to my poor father and to family 
rank, which, as his heir, I was bound to uphold, should make 
me seek out a rich and high-born wife. All this is now past. 
Had my beloved father lived it is hard to say what sacrifice 
I might not be tempted to have made for him, but I am now 
'a free agent, a nameless wanderer, and when I again meet 
with Rose, it will be as an exile, like herself. Thus we will 
meet on equal ground, and Rose, dear sweetheart Rose, will 
be mine own.” 


410 


, THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ It will be a great joy to you both when you meet.” 

“ It will, Edward, and yet a joy springing out of sorrow.” 
He paused for a moment and then added, “ but I have yet 
to discoverer where Rose has hid herself.” 

u You do not know, then, what part of America she has 
gone to ?” 

“ No, but in searching for such a treasure there is no 
such word as fail ; I do not apprehend much difficulty. 
Fortunately I know Mr. Kirwan’s late address in this town, 
and I am now going to make inquiries there. Stay you 
here, and rest yourself until my return, which will be 
soon.” 

“ Why may I not accompany you ?” said Edward. 

“ I expect some letters,” said Henry ; “ I would wish you 
to be here to receive them, in case they come while I am 
out, so au revoir .” 

Half an hour's walk brought Henry to Mr. Kirwan’s late 
residence ; some bills upon the windows announced that it 
was to rent. Henry knocked at the door, but no one an- 
swered his summons ; he then stooped over the railings and 
found, from one of the bills, that all inquiries were to be 
made of Mr. James Quigly, of such a street and number. 
To Mr. Quigly Henry went, and inquired “ if he was the 
landlord of the house, 30 Park street.” 

“ A new tenant,” thought Mr. Quigly ; “ very respecta- 
ble looking, too.” Then aloud, u yes, sir ; pray be seated ; 
rather a misty day ; allow me to stir up the fire.” 

But when he found that Henry’s visit was not to lead to 
his getting a new tenant, but was made for the purpose of 
inquiry after an old one, Mr. Quigly’s manner altered 
considerably. However, his answers, though short’ were to 
the point. “ He knew nothing of Mr. Kirwan ; was treated 
badly by hinj ; should have got a quarter’s notice ; did not 
know if he had removed to the antipodes or to the next 
street, and didn’t care a d — n which.” 

Henry was much disappointed ; he returned to the house 
in Park street, stood opposite to it, walked up and down 
before it, stooped over the railing and looked down into 
the area; but seeing nothing there but a rat, who did not 
even wait to be questioned, it struck him he should make 
inquiries at some of the stores in the neighborhood. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWtf. 


411 


The first one he came to was a green grocer’s or provis- 
ion store. It is proverbial that green grocers generally 
know all about their neighbors. There was a good hu- 
mored-looking man standing behind the counter. 

“ I have called, sir,” said Henry, “ to ask if you could give 
me any information about a Mr. Kirwan, who resided, for 
some time, in Park street, near to you here ?” 

u You have just come, young gentleman, to the right 
place,” replied the man, “ I know all about him.” 

Henry was overjoyed. 

“ Poor Mrs-. Kirwan's and my wife’s livers were, —two 
pounds of fresh butter, sir,” addressing a customer who had 
just entered, — “ affected the same w r ay.” 

Henry waited until the customer was served and had de- 
parted. He then said, “ you know, I hope, where Mr. Kir- 
wan has gone to ?” 

“ To be sure I do,” answered the green grocer, “ he always 
bought his butter here, sir; he used to say he could not get 
it so good anywhere else. Just try that butter, sir,” he 
broke in, at the same time driving his thumb into a firkin, 
and presenting Henry with about the eighth of a pound, 
balanced on his nail.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Henry, “ I’d rather not, I am sure 
it is very good. Can you give me Mr. Kirwan’s present 
address ?” 

“Yes, sir. His present address is America, and as sure 
as I live, some of us will follow him if taxes go on as they 
do. Can you tell me, now, what my taxes came to last 
year ?” 

“ I really have no idea ; I am quite a stranger in Liverpool. 
But can you tell me to what part of America Mr. Kirwan 
has gone ?” 

“ He’s gone west, sir.” 

“ West,” said Henry, “ but can you tell me the name of 
ther state he has gone to ?” 

“ No, sir,” replied the man. 

Henry felt disappointed. 

“After all, my friend,” he said, “ your information is but 
vague. I thought from the way you spoke, that you could 
have given me more accurate information.” 

27 


412 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


The green grocer was nettled. He was one of those talk- 
ative fellows who wish to be considered as knowing much 
m ,r<3 than they actually do. 

41 There is but north, south, east and west,” he replied. 
44 Tell me that a man I want to see, lives in the west of our 
borough here, and see if 1 don’t find him out.” 

44 Without any disparagement to your borough, sir,” said 
Henry, 44 there is some difference between it and the con- 
tinent of America.” 

44 Oh, no doubt, sir,” replied the man. 44 However you 
have all the information I can give you. The very day be- 
fore Mr. Kirwan left, he came in here. 4 Well, Squeezer,’ 
says he, 4 I’m off to America.’ 4 What part, Mr. Kirwan/ 
says I.’ 4 I’m going west, Squeezer,’ says he 4 I’ll miss your 

beautiful butter. Good bye.’ 4 1 wish you every luck, Mr. 
Kirwan,’ says I, and we shook hands, and I never laid a 
blessed eye on him since.” 

44 Perhaps,” said Henry, 44 you could direct me to some 
person Mr. Kirwan was intimate with, and who may know, 
at least, the name of the state he has gone to.” 

44 Well, I think I can,” replied Mr. Squeezer. 44 You had 
better call on Mr. Rooney, who lives in the next street.” 

44 The next street ?” 

44 Yes, sir. Number 44, just around the corner, — a large 
coffee-pot, — you can’t miss it.” 

44 Thank you,” said Henry, hurrying out, glad to get rid 
of Mr. Squeezer and his beautiful butter. He had pro- 
ceeded some distance down the other street, when he heard 
some one shouting after him. He turned round and saw 
the green grocer standing at the corner, beckoning to him. 
He hurried back. 

44 1 just called you back,” said Squeezer, 44 to ask you to 
drop in when you’re passing, and tell me what Rooney says, 
I may have to write to Kirwan if the taxes” 

This second disappointment was nearly too much for 
Henry’s good temper, but the sense of the ludicrous over- 
came his anger. 

44 1 do not intend returning by your place, Mr. Squeezer,” 
he said, 44 and it can make no difference to you, as there is 
only north, south, east, and west. Good bye.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


413 


Guided by the coffee pot, Henry entered the store over 
which it hung, but the only information Mr. Rooney could 
give, was, “ that he believed Mr. Kirwan had gone to some 
one of the western states ; which of them, he could not say.” 

“ Can you direct me to any one likely to know ?” asked 
Henry. 

“ I really cannot,” replied Mr. Rooney. 

When Henry got into the street, he looked at his watch 
and found that it was later than he had supposed it to be. 

“ I had better return to the hotel,” he thought ; “ Edward 
will be uneasy at my long absence, and I suppose I cannot 
get any more information in this locality ; it is something, 
however, to have, what that prating fellow told me, confirm- 
ed by the person he directed me to. Rose, my beautiful 
flower, I too will go west, and search through every state 
and territory until I find you.” 

When he reached the hotel, Edward inquired what suc- 
cess he had. 

“ Little, indeed,” he replied ; “ I have been playing ‘ Send 
the fool farther,’ and all to no purpose.” 

“You were not able, then, to find out Mr. Kirwan’s ad- 
dress ?” said Edward. 

“ No, far from it ; not even the name of the state he has 
gone to.” 

Henry then related to his young friend the result of his 
inquiries. 

“ Do you know the name of the vessel they sailed in ?” 
asked Edward. 

“No,” replied Henry; “and I never thought of asking 
those people. How stupid of me; but I will return at 
once.” 

“Wait,” said Edward; “I think I know a better way of 
finding out. Do you know about what time Mr. Kirwan 
and his family left here ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; the very date ; poor Rose mentioned it in her 
farewell letter.” 

“ Then Captain Thompson can find out for you what ves- 
sels left this port at that date, for America. The vessel 
they went in may be in port here at this very time.” 

“You are a glorious fellow, Edward,” replied Henry, 


414 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ and have twice my brains. We will see Captain Thomp- 
son in the morning. Did he not say that he would be on 
board?” 

“ Yes; you remember he asked me to go down to him.” 

“ We will go together, Edward ; I have no doubt but that 
he will be able to find out by what vessel they left. God 
send she is in port.” 

The next morning our two travelers were early down at 
the docks. They found Captain Thompson on board his 
vessel ; he shook hands with them in the most cordial man- 
ner. “I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you down 
here so early, Mr. Daly,” he said. 

“I have a selfish motive in coming to see you this room- 
ing, captain,” replied Henry. 

“What may it be?” asked the captain. 

Henry informed him. 

“You say they left on the 20th of March,” said Captain 
Thompson. “ Come into the cabin ; we will, I think, have 
no difficulty in finding out by what vessel they went. We 
will leave this young sailor in charge of the deck. Mr. 
Sims,” he continued, addressing the first mate, “ this young 
gentleman will be a passenger of ours. I am going below 
for a few moments, and will leave him in your charge. 
Show him anything you think will interest him.” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” answered the mate. 

The captain and Henry then went to the cabin, and the 
former, taking a file of papers, commenced looking over 
them. 

“ Yes, here it is,” he said; “but one vessel sailed for the 
port of New York on the 20th of March, the Birkenhead. 
She is now in this port, and lies a little way down the river. 
Mr. Sims,” he called from the cabin door. 

“ Aye, aye, sir.” 

“ Do you know if Captain J ackson is on board the Birk- 
enhead ?” 

“ Yes sir ; I saw him going out to her, in his boat, this 
morning,” replied the mate. 

“All right,” said the captain, turning to Henry, “ amuse 
yourself as best you can by looking over those old papers, 
or you will find books up there. I will be disengaged in 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


415 


half an hour and will then accompany you on hoard the 
Birkenhead.” 

“I am really distressed, Captain Thompson,” said Henry, 
“ at giving you all this trouble.” 

Ci But you can’t help it,” replied the captain, laughing. 
u Say nothing about it, Mr. Daly, I do not pay you the com- 
pliment that you think I do, for I have some business my- 
self with Captain Jackson.” 

# Henry awaited the captain’s return, and at the expira- 
tion of half an hour the latter and Edward entered the 
cabin. 

“I assure you, Mr. Daly,” said the captain, our young 
friend here knows a good deal about a vessel.” 

“ He has been on board a good many with his father,” 
replied Henry. 

“ Ah, so he tells me, poor fellow. I think I must try and 
coax him away from you.” 

“ It would be difficult to part us, captain.” 

“Well, I will not use a press gang, but I would like such 
a companion in my lonely voyages. Now, Mr. Daly, I am 
ready.” 

When the party stepped into the boat the captain said : 
“ Take the helm, my boy, and let me see how you can steer. 
Sit here, Mr. Daly. You see that vessel, Master Edward, 
about half a mile off lying in the middle of the river?” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” replied Edward. 

“ Well, steer for her; give way, men.” 

The tide favoring them, they were soon alongside of the 
Birkenhead. Edward remained in the boat, while Captain 
Thompson and Henry went on board. When the latter 
was introduced to the captain of the Birkenhead, he briefly 
stated the business on which he came. Captain Jackson 
informed him that there was a gentleman of the name of 
Kirwan, together with his family, and a young lady named 
O’Donnell, passengers on board his vessel, during the last 
trip to New York.” 

“ Yes,” said Henry, overjoyed, “ those are they I seek 
for. Can you tell me, captain, what state they have gone 
to ?” 

The captain considered for some time. “ I fear I cannot,” 
he replied, “further than that they were bound west.” 


416 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


“Might not the direction have been on some of their 
luggage,” suggested Captain Thompson. 

“ That is just what I have been thinking of,” replied the 
other, “ and I now remember perfectly well that all their 
things were marked New York.” 

“ Did they all land in good health, captain ?” asked Henry. 

“ Excellent,” replied the captain. “ One of the children 
caught the measles, but she was well before we landed.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Henry, “ but the grown up people ?” 

“ Well, Mrs. Kirwan, poor woman, complained a little of 
a pain in her side” 

“Yes, I know,” said Henry, interrupting, “ but” 

“Oh, Mr. Kirwan’s health you are anxious about? Well 
he told me he never felt better ; his appetite was better than 
when he was on shore. The first thing he did every morn- 
ing, was” 

“ Oh, d — n his appetite, captain,” exclaimed Henry. “ I 
beg you pardon, bat I am very anxious to know” 

Captain Jackson laughed outright. “You are anxious to 
know how Miss O’Donnell was,” he said. “ Ah ! young gen- 
tleman, it takes an old sea-dog to tell what’s in the wind’s 
eye. You will pardon me for teasing you ; Miss O’Donnell 
was perfectly well, but out of spirits, I should say. The 
most beautiful girl, captain, I ever saw.” 

Both captains looked at Henry, and he felt himself blush- 
ing like a girl. 

“I am indeed sorry,” said Captain Jackson, “ that I can 
give you no information as to their destination after they 
landed, but you will find some one in New York who will 
know it. You intend going there, you tell me?” 

“ Yes,” replied Henry, “ but I know no one in New York, 
of whom I could make inquiry.” 

“Well, an advertisement in the papers will find Mr. Kir- 
wan out.” 

“ I was thinking of that,” said Henry. 

“Never fear, Mr. Daly,” said Captain Thompson, “we will 
hunt them up for you, when we get to New York.” 

As Captain Thompson was in a hurry to get back to his 
vessel, and Henry could find out nothing further by delay- 
ing, they wished Captain Jackson good morning, and got 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN- 


417 


into their boat. Edward judged by Henry’s countenance 
that he did not get the information he sought for, so he ask- 
ed no questions. 

“ You must not be cast down, Mr. Daly,” said Captain 
Thompson, when they were again under way, “ we will find 
out your friends for you when we reach New York. If our 
interview with Captain Jackson had been more satisfactory, 
I would be inclined to quiz you, short as our acquaintance 
has been, for I guess that there is a little romance in this 
business.” 

Henry was indeed much cast down, and Edward deter- 
mined to return with him to the hotel rather than spend the 
day on board the James Monroe, as he had at first intended. 
On taking their leave of Captain Thompson, he inquired of 
Henry if he intended calling upon Mr. Bearcroft. Henry 
answered “ yes.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said the captain. “ He has taken 
quite a fancy to both of you, and told me yesterday evening 
he hoped you would call on him again. Remember, Mr. Daly, 
to have your traps on board Monday, and you must be on 
board yourself Monday evening. We will endeavor to get 
down the river with the morning’s tide, which will answer 
at four o’clock, too early an hour for you to be starting from 
your hotel.” 

Henry promised to be punctual, and he and Edward quit- 
ted the James Monroe. 

Mr. Bearcroft was evidently glad to see them. When they 
entered his office, he closed his ledger, and wheeled round 
his chair, like one who settled himself for a social chat. 
An idle man could never appreciate the enjoyment this 
business man felt in conversing with those two, whom 
chance had thrown in his way. They appeared so fresh, 
youthful and unsophisticated, that to converse with them, 
was, to his jaded spirit, like taking a walk in the old garden 
he had left many a day ago ; and he, on his part, was so 
gentlemanlike, so little inquisitive, and yet so winning and 
affable in his manner, that before Henry rose to take his 
departure, — which was not for two good hours, from the 
time of his entering the office — he had confided to Mr. Bear- 
croft an outline of his past life and present position. After 


418 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


all, perhaps, there is none more winning or warm than the 
cold, distant man, when he unbends ; whom, perchance, the 
hollowness of the world had first made retire into himself, 
shutting the heart’s door in the false jade’s face. I remem- 
ber, when a boy, playing one day in a field we called the 
blind well field. Years before there had been an attempt 
made to sink a well here, but some how they failed to find 
a spring, and the work was abandoned ; the hole thus left 
was always called “ the blind well.” The day I allude to, 
our play was “ hunt the hare,” and one of the boys went to 
hide in the blind well ; whilst crouching down he amused 
himself picking pebbles from its side, when out gushed the 
sparkling waters. It is sometimes so with your cold, reserv- 
ed man. The world (the common laborer,) delves and 
hacks, and the ground remains dry, and barren ; a child pass- 
ing by, pauses, touches the hidden spring, and lo ! the liv- 
ing waters, pent up for years in the recesses of the heart, 
leap out. 

“ I am sorry, Mr. Daly,” said Mr. Bearcroft, as he accom- 
panied his visitors to the door of his office, “ that you leave 
so soon. Had you a few days to spare, I would have had 
much pleasure in showing all that is worth seeing in our 
town.” 

Henry thanked him, promised to call on the following 
Monday, and took his departure. There were two letters 
awaiting him at the hotel ; one from Emily and one from 
Doctor Kelly. All were well at home, and both letters 
were cheerful in their tone. Henry read them aloud, and 
when he came to that part of Emily’s, in which she sent 
her love to Edward, the boy’s face glowed with delight. 
Neither he or Henry left the hotel during the remainder of 
the day ; the letters were often looked over, and chatting 
on the subjects they gave rise to, made the time pass quickly 
by. In the evening another letter arrived ; it was from Mr. 
Bearcroft, brought by his porter, containing an invitation 
to the two friends to dine with the merchant, at his country 
seat, on the following day. Mr. Bearcroft proposed to call 
for them at three o’clock in the afternoon, and drive them 
out in his cab. 

“ What say you, Edward ?” asked Henry. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


419 


“Oh, just as yon please,” replied Edward. 

“ V ery well, then, we will go ; he has been very civil to us. 5 ’ 

Accordingly Henry wrote a note, accepting the invita- 
tion, and promising to be ready at the time mentioned. Punc- 
tual to his appointment, Mr. Bearcroft drove up to the hotel 
on the following day, just as the clock was striking three, 
and Henry and Edward stepped into his cab and set off for 
his country residence. 

“ I am glad to see you are not a Puritan, Mr. Daly,” said 
Mr. Bearcroft, as they drove along. “ I had some fears that 
you would not accept my invitation, as it was for Sunday, 
but it is the only day we men of business have to ourselves, 
neither would to-morrow answer you, as Captain Thompson 
tells me he must have you on board in the evening. I have 
asked him to meet you to-day.” 

“ I like him very much,” said Henry. 

“ You will like him still better , 55 replied Mr. Bearcroft, 
“ as you become more intimate with him.” 

They spent a very agreeable evening at Mr. Bearcroft’s. 
Everything w T as in good taste. Henry was surprised to find 
his children so young — the eldest not more than twelve ; 
and Mrs. Bearcroft might have passed for Mr. Bearcroft’s 
daughter. But the merchant had married late in life ; some 
few, who knew him well, said “it was a love match;” — 
whereupon the world giggled. “ Bearcroft in love ! The 
cold, calculating, money-making Bearcroft in love !” And 
the world held its rotten sides and laughed. “Bearcroft 
had got bitten — taken in — and would be found, one of these 
days, hanging to a beam . 55 But the world was too hasty in 
its view of the matter, and should have suspended its judg- 
ment, and not Mr. Bearcroft, for it turned out that he was 
far too happy to think of hanging himself. 

“You forget the office, here,” said Henry, as Mr. Bear- 
croft sat after dinner with his children grouped around him. 

“No, Mr. Daly, I can’t say I do,” replied the host ; “for I 
remember that it is attention to business which enables me 
to give this home to my children. Come, now, scamper 
off,” he continued, playfully addressing them; “you have 
eaten all the fruit. We will join you presently, love,” he 
said, as Mrs. Bearcroft rose to leave the room. Henry 


420 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


opened the door for her, Edward followed with the children, 
and in half an hour or so afterwards, Mr. Bearcroft and his 
guests joined them in the drawing room. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

I hope my readers will appreciate my forbearance in not 
inflicting upon them a chapter, recounting the clearing out 
of the James Monroe from the Liverpool docks. Let them 
not suppose that I have not the materials wherewith to do 
it ; I have plenty on hand ; I have lots of emigrants and 
their baggage ; lots of boxes and cordage ; pyramids of tins 
— I have emigrants weeping, laughing, dancing, drinking, 
and fighting. I have a drunken man, tor whom his friends 
searched high and low, and at last found in a public house, 
embracing a forbidding-looking gentleman, whom he had 
never seen before, and swearing that they should never part. 
I can tell how that man was hurried by his friends down to 
the dock and into the — river. I could tell how that man 
felt after he had been rescued from drowning ; — how he felt 
previous to the accident, perhaps some of my readers 
know already ; but I forbear, these things have been told 
over and over again. I prefer boarding the James Mon- 
roe, as she speeds over the blue waves of the Atlantic, the 
Irish coast, like a dark mist behind, and a world of waters 
before. There were not more than one hundred steerage 
passengers on board, and but one cabin passenger, besides 
our two friends — a widow lady. Her husband and herself 
had arrived from America, in England, (their native coun- 
try,) a few months before, on business. The former died 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


421 


shortly after landing, and the widow was now returning to 
her children, in America. On the evening of the third day 
at sea, they lost sight of land. Edward, who was contin- 
ually on deck, came rushing into Henry’s state room to 
apprize him of the fact. The latter had lost sight of it at 
a much earlier period, for from the time the vessel had left 
the river he lay helpless in his berth. During this time, his 
mind was almost a blank ; he neither thought of the home 
he had left, or of the one he hoped to build up for himself 
in a foreign land ; scarcely of the dear one he expected to 
meet. Yes, it must be confessed, the image of Rose O’Don- 
nell paled before the actual presence of pale braudy and 
water. What little contemptible pieces of crockery on two 
legs are we ; how we strut and bluster about our passions, 
and their indomitable strength ; yet a little bile knocks 
them all of a heap. However, Henry felt much better this 
evening, and previous to Edward’s visit, had been looking on 
(his state room door being open, and having failed in a 
hopeless attempt to close it,) at a cotillion party, which 
some volatile bandboxes, and other equally light charac- 
ters, had got up in the cabin. They went through the fig- 
ures, advance, ladies change, set to your partners, all prome- 
nade, &c., &c., in very graceful though eccentric style. There 
were two rather weighty trunks in Henry’s state room, one 
over the other, and the topmost one took it into his head to 
join the party outside. So the unwieldy fellow went tumb- 
ling off his companion, and bumping out the narrow door, 
appeared amongst the dancers. There was a lull, just then, 
during which the trunk seemed to be regarding the band- 
boxes, and they him ; but a lurch of the vessel made him 
quickly make up his mind, and he slid, as gracefully as he 
could, to the nearest bandbox, to the great amusement of 
the cotillion party, for they at once commenced jumping 
over him, sometimes landing on him, and at others clear- 
ing him in the most agile manner ; then again, skipping up 
to him, and poking him in the side in a playful way. I re- 
gret to say that the trunk lost temper at this little poking, 
and resented it in the most unhandsome, nay, unmanly man- 
ner ; for taking advantage of a heavy lurch, it followed 
one of the bandboxes that had just cleared him, and squash- 


422 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ed it against the side of the cabin, whereupon its compan- 
ions retreated to different corners, and the sea gettingrdown 
at the same time, the dancing ceased for the evening. I am 
happy to say that the trunk suffered for his cowardly attack 
on unprotected finery, for the lid flew open, and a spruce 
Wellington boot jumped out, probably by way of protest- 
ing that it would have no foot in such ungentlemanly con- 
duct. 

“ It is a beautiful evening, Henry,” said Edward, “ and 
the sea is getting quite calm. Captain Thompson has been 
asking for you ; he says now that he has got sea room and 
time to spare, he will come for you himself to get you on 
deck.” 

“ Not a doubt of it,” said the captain, entering ; “how do 
you feel, Mr. Daly?” y 

“ I am much better, thank you,” replied Henry.” 

“ Well, then, get up and join us at supper; do you think 
you could eat anything ?” 

“ I think I could,” replied Henry. 

“ You are all right, then,” said the captain. u Edward 
and myself have been all alone since we put to sea, for the 
poor lady we have on board has never left her state room. 
The stewardess tells me that she is in profound grief. No 
wonder, poor lady, it is sad news she is bearing home to 
her little ones. We must do all we can for her, if she 
joins us in the cabin one of these days. Have you ever 
seen sunset at sea, Mr. Daly?” 

u Not unless where land was visible.” 

“ Get up, then, and you will be in time to see it. The 
fresh air, too, will revive you, and give you an appetite for 
supper.” 

“ I don’t think I require to coax an appetite, captain, for 
since the sea-sickness left me I feel rather hungry.” 

“ You certainly have a ravenous look about the eyes,” 
replied the captain, “ but I am rejoiced to find you able to 
join us, not but that Edward and myself made very excel- 
lent company for one another, and have became very inti- 
mate friends ; what say you Edward ?” 

But without waiting for an answer, the Captain hurried 
out, leaving Henry to dress. He felt very weak at first, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


423 


and had to hold on by his young companion as they went 
on deck. 

“ You have not got your sea legs yet, Henry,” said Ed- 
ward. 

“Well,” he replied, “I hope old Father Neptune will 
give me a pair as soon as possible, for he has left my own 
nearly useless.” 

They were soon joined by Captain Thompson ; “ sit down 
here, Mr. Daly,” he said, “and tell me what you think of 
sunset at sea.” 

Henry looked in the direction the captain pointed to ; 
the sun was just dipping into the sea. 

“This is not a favorable evening,” continued the captain. 
“ The sky is too clear ; we want more clouds scattered 
around to reflect its rays ; but what think you of it as it 
appears now ?” 

“I much prefer sunset on land,” replied Henry, “or 
when the land forms a portion of the landscape ; there is 
too great a waste about this view, and yet it is very beau- 
tiful.” 

Henry remained on deck for about half an hour, when 
the steward came to summon him to supper. The open air 
had much refreshed him, and he did ample justice to the 
meal, at which Captain Thompson presided. After this his 
sea-legs came quickly enough to him, and in a week he was 
able to pace the quarter deck with Captain Thompson or 
Edward, even when the sea was somewhat rough. As for 
Edward, he was, in truth, on his native element; no sooner 
on the forecastle than on the quarterdeck, then down on 
the maindeck and up the rigging. He soon became a great 
favorite with the sailors, and his call was as promptly an- 
swered by, “ aye, aye, sir,” as if the captain had hailed. The 
latter, too, became much attached to him. Often, when 
the boy was reading or otherwise engaged, he would fix his 
eyes upon him, the shadow would deepen on his face, and 
his whole countenance assume a sad, abstracted look. He 
would awake from such reveries with a start, and go for- 
ward to attend to some duty ; but more than once would 
he sigh while so engaged, like one whose mind had been in 
the past and came back burdened with its memories. 


424 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Mrs. Fairbanks (such was the name of the lady passen- 
ger,) scarcely ever appeared in the cabin during the voy- 
age, and thus left to their own companionship, it was not 
surprising that a close intimacy sprung up between Captain 
Thompson and his two passengers, which soon ripened into 
warm friendship. There was nothing in Henry Daly’s past 
life which he wished to conceal, so he spoke freely of it to 
the captain, and as the latter was an enlightened Amer- 
ican, he was glad to consult him on his future course. 

“ You are bringing means to my country, Mr. Daly,” said 
the captain, one evening to Henry, “ that properly applied, 
will secure you affluence. By settling down in some one 
of the new States, where you can purchase a large tract of 
land, for a quarter of your capital, you could actually sit 
down and let wealth grow around you. The sound of the 
axe approaching you through the forest, would be the har- 
binger of prosperity.” 

“ I would not have my own axe silent,” said Henry. 

“ Of conrse not ; though I expect you do not intend using 
it yourself.” 

“Why not? If I am to be a back-woodsman, I will be 
one in reality.” 

“I am glad to hear you say so; there is nothing we dis- 
like more in America than an idle man. But you need not 
toil like those who have no capital ; your means will permit 
you to employ help ; yet many a man has gone into the 
woods with naught but his axe and a brave heart, and hewn 
his way to independence.” 

u Such a man should feel very proud,” said Henry. 

“ So he does,” replied the captain. u If you care to study 
such things, mark the difference (and you will have plenty 
of opportunities to do so in the country you are going to,) 
between him who has fought with nature — if I may use such 
an expression — to achieve an independence, and he who 
has battled for it amongst men. The former is open, frank 
and confiding; the latter, cautious, and, from experience, 
mistrustful; and these different feelings^are often stamped 
upon their features.” 

“But should they meet in life’s battle, captain,” said 
Henry, “ would not he whose experience was derived from 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


425 


men, be an over match for the other; would not the confid- 
ing nature of the latter betray him?” 

“ Perhaps,” replied Captain Thompson, “I should have 
said confident rather than c confiding,’ for his confidence is 
more in himself than in others. The book of nature that is 
ever open to him, gives vigor and clearness to a mind 
which has never been clouded by the doubts and fears 
which beset him who has met with a thousand disappoint- 
ments amongst men. The traveler who has been robbed 
on a certain road, when passing over it again, will delay 
himself on his journey by continually pausing and looking 
around, while he who knows nothing of all this will go 
straight forward, without any delay, to his destination ; and 
of the two, he has, I think, the better chance of reaching it 
m safety.” 

“I believe there is much truth in what you say,” said 
Henry. “You remember the Grecian general, Agesilaus, 
who always deceived the enemy by letting them know the 
exact truth.” 

“ Good,” said the captain. “ Truth is such a stranger in 
the world, that people are not apt to recognize it when it 
appears.” 

“ But those fine fellows in the woods, Captain Thompson, 
never lie,” said Edward. 

A smile stole to the captain’s face. “Well, Edward,” he 
replied, “ I must confess that they have their weaknesses, 
as well as others. Get one of them on a land speculation, 
and he will lie all the week round, and not ask to rest on 
Sunday.” 

Henry laughed. “ Now this is not fair of you, Captain 
Thompson,” he said ; “ you raise a noble temple, and while 
Edward and myself are gazing at its beauty, you deface it.” 

“ What could you expect, my friend,” replied the captain, 
“ it was but of earth, after all.” 

“ Yet we cannot forgive you for destroying our model 
backwoodsman.” 

“ Those models, Mr. Daly, are never true, when applied to 
a class. The rough western man is, in general, about as hon- 
est a rascal as you may meet with ; and that’s as much as can 
be said of most men.” 


426 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Often, in these conversations, Henry alluded to his in- 
tended search for Rose O’Donnell ; once he said : 

“ I confess, captain, that a doubt (which at first never 
disturbed me,) of my not being able to discover her grows 
stronger, now that I have time to consider how strange it 
was that all clue to the family, with whom she went, seemed 
lost in a place where they had resided for years, and left but 
a few months previous to my inquiries.” 

“ It is but natural,” replied the captain, “ that your anxiety 
should increase as the time approaches in which you hope 
to meet with her, and that this over-anxiety should give 
birth to doubts and fears ; but you must remember how short 
your stay in Liverpool was.” 

“ Yes, that was a great mistake. I should have remained 
longer. Would that I had done so.” 

“ I am selfish enough to be very glad that you did not 
Nor would your doing so be of any use. If necessary, you 
can write to Mr. Bearcroft, and he will make every inquiry 
possible, in the neighborhood of their old home, while you 
are prosecuting your search for their new one. Remember 
that c the course ol true love never did run smooth but in 
truth there does not appear to be many breakers ahead of 
your’s. Just enough to make you enjoy smooth water, when 
you reach to it. What would love be without a little ro- 
mance?” 

“ I would willingly forego the latter,” replied Henry. 

“ Oh fye, so faint-hearted,” said the captain. “ What 
would become of you if you had to rescue your fair lady 
from an enchanted castle, guarded by a fiery dragon, with a 
tail that a comet’s would be but a fire cracker to ?” 

“ But seriously, captain, what do you recommend me to 
do, when we arrive at New York?” 

“ We will first make inquiries at the office of the Birken- 
head ; the people there will, very likely, be able to give the 
information you require. Nothing more probable than that 
Kirwan consulted them on his route ; but if he did not, and 
you can get information in no other way, you must adver- 
tise in the New York papers.” 

“ But neither Mr. Kirwan, or any member of his family, 
may ever see one of those papers.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 427 

“ By requesting to have it done, your advertisement will 
be copied into the western papers.” 

“ But they may have settled down in some out of the way 
place, where a paper is never seen,” persisted Henry. 

“ It is not likely,” answered the captain, u that an intel- 
ligent man, like Kir wan, would be without a newspaper. 
You tell me that he was induced to emigrate in consequence 
of having been left some landed property by a relative. It 
is probably cleared land ; if so, dej)end upon it that there is 
a village at no great distance, and where there are twenty 
houses together in America, one of them is sure to be a 
newspaper office.” 

Perceiving that Edward Vaughan had, in truth, a great 
taste for everything connected with a vessel, Captain 
Thompson commenced giving him lessons in navigation, 
and Henry remarked that in the science of his profession, 
as well as in general literature, the captain seemed remark- 
ably well informed. 

“ If merchant captains are in general like him,” thought 
Henry, they are very different persons from what I sup- 
posed them to be ; but, as he said himself, models are nev- 
er true, when applied to a class.” 

At times, Captain Thompson would seem quite elated at 
the rapid progress Edwardwas making under him ; but this 
pleasure was always short-lived, and he would say : 

“ After all, what is the use of this, when you are so soon 
to leave me. I would, Edward, we were not to part so soon.” 

Then he would look at Henry Daly, like one who wished 
to speak further, yet feared to do so. 

At such times, Henry always felt uneasy and disturbed, 
he scarcely knew why, and endeavored to change the con- 
versation. Then the shadow would darken on the captain’s 
face, and he would hurry on deck. If Edward followed, he 
generally found him pacing the quarterdeck, so lost in 
thought, that the boy n^ght walk for several minutes by 
his side without his presence being noticed. 

“Has Captain Thompson ever spoken to you of his past 
life, Edward?” asked Henry one day, when the two were 
alone. 

“ No,” replied the boy. 


428 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Or mentioned anything about his family, or whether he 
has one?” 

“ No ; but there is hanging up in his state-room, the like- 
ness of a lady, and also one of a little boy. I saw him, 
one day he brought me in there, looking at them for a long 
time, and when he turned round I am sure there were tears 
in his eyes.” 

“Poor man,” said Henry, “ I have no doubt but that he 
has met with some great sorrow. You may remember he 
told us that he had lost a son.” 

“ That must be his son’s likeness then, Henry, that is in 
his room, and the likeness of his wife. Perhaps she, too, 
is dead. Oh! Henry, how I do pity him.” 

“ Hush, I hear his step, and we must not pry into his sad 
* secrets, if he has such.” 

They were now one month at sea, with half the voyage 
accomplished. The weather up to this had been fine, too 
much so, indeed, for making good headway, and they had 
several calms. When these occurred the poor emigrants 
came on deck out of the dreary steerage, to breathe the 
fresh air. When it was a perfect calm a fiddle generally 
made its appearance amongst them, and, in a short time, 
they were dancing, singing and laughing as merrily as if 
within the shadows of their native mountains, with the green 
sward beneath their feet. Henry often went among them, 
while Edward, perched upon the highest yard, would shout 
down his challenge to him to ascend. During those calms, 
too, Mrs. Fairbanks had been induced to go on deck for short 
intervals, lest her health might suffer from continual con- 
finement. The gentlemen paid her every attention in their 
power, but, though thankful for such, it was evident that 
the poor lady preferred being left quietly to herself. 

The twentieth of August found the James Monroe off the 
banks of Newfoundland. When Henry Daly went on deck 
that morning the weather was beautiful, the wind scarcely 
strong enough to propel the vessel three knots an hour, 
sometimes ceasing altogether, and letting the sails flap idly 
against the masts. There were some sailors washing the 
deck and Henry addressed one of them : 

“ It is a fine morning,” he said, “ but we want a little more 
wind to drive us along.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


429 


“ We’ll have it soon enough, sir,” answered the man. “ Do 
you see those little white clouds, just in the wind’s eye ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, we’ll have wind from that quarter, soon, that will 
blow your hat off.” 

“ If it does no worse than that,” replied Henry, “ I wish it 
would come.” 

The captain just then came on deck and Henry joined 
him. 

“One of the sailors thinks,. cap tain, that we are going to 
have some wind.” 

“ Yes,” answered Captain Thompson, who had been look- 
ing to windward, “ and a stiff breeze too.” 

“ I have not witnessed a storm at sea yet,” said Henry, “ and 
was almost longing for one.” 

“ Never long for one, Mr. Daly,” said the captain, gravely. 
“We sailors can perceive its approach, but God only knows 
what its results will be, how many wrecks it may leave be- 
neath the waves, how many wrecked hearts it may leave to 
mourn that its fury had spared them.” 

Henry looked at Captain Thompson ; his face was still 
turned to windward, but it was evident that his thoughts 
were more with the past than the present. After a little he 
turned and gave some orders to the mate, and when he was 
again disengaged Henry remarked : 

“ This is the 20th of August, a day that brings many 
pleasant recollections to my mind; for it is the first day of 
the shooting season in Ireland.” 

Captain Thompson started, and grasped Henry’s arm. 

“Speak not,” he said, “of this day and its associations. 
To me, Mr. Daly, it is the darkest that man could know. 
On it, my friend, the great misfortune of my life occurred.” 

Henry was shocked. “I am grieved beyond measure, 
Captain Thompson,” he saicL “ that I should have pained you 
thus by my careless remans.” 

“ You need make no excuse, my friend,” replied the cap- 
tain. “ What I allude to is ever present to my mind. Some 
other time, perhaps, I will tell you more of this. I must go, 
now, and see that the ship is made all taut, for the wind is 
coming up fast.” 


450 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Do you apprehend danger, captain ?” 

“ No, no ; we have plenty of sea room, for I have kept 
well to the south.” 

Henry remained on the quarterdeck for some time after 
the captain had quitted him, and before he left it the wind 
had freshened to a stiff breeze, which increased at nightfall 
to a storm ; but, fortunately, it blew right astern, and the 
vessel, stripped all to two or three sails to steady her, sped 
gallantly before it. When night set in Henry and Edward 
remained on deck, holding on by the belaying pins. 

To them, it was a novel and a grand sight, to see the ves- 
sel now mounting to the top of a huge billow, as the moon 
flitted through her strained cordage, then darting — like an 
arrow shot from a mountain, into the valley beneath — down 
into the sea, and meeting, with a gallant thrill, the fierce 
wave which had hurried to engulf her ; then, all dripping, 
she would arise on the crest of her vanquished foe, while 
the baffled wind shrieked through her rigging. 

Henry Daly had read many descriptions of storms at sea, 
and of vessels scudding before the wind, and he now found 
himself comparing many of tliose with the actual scene be- 
fore him. 

“ I think, Edward,” he said, “if I had never read of a ves- 
sel being compared to a fiery charger, the comparison would 
strike me now. One could almost imagine that an invisi- 
ble hand held those cords, and endeavored to restrain the 
gallant creature, seemingly endowed with life, in her mad 
career.” 

“The simile strikes you more than it would others,” re- 
plied Captain Thompson, who had just joined them, “ be- 
cause you have been accustomed to fiery chargers. How- 
ever, your adopting it is a good evidence of its aptness. 
We will go into the cabin for a while; everything is taut 
and snug, and I think that the gale is abating. 

When they entered the cabin* Captain Thompson sat 
down by the table, and, resting his head upon his hand, fell 
into thought. He had not spoken much to his two passen- 
gers duringThe day, and they had never seen him so deject- 
ed. 

At length he raised his head, and said, “ I am but indif- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


431 


ferent company, to-night, Mr. Daly, but when you know the 
cause, you will rather wonder that I am so calm. This is 
the anniversary of the day on which I lost a wife and child, 
my all on earth.” 

Edward looked at the melancholy face before him, — now 
grown doubly sad, — and his heart was filled with pity. 

“ I knew not,” said Henry, in a low voice, “ that you had 
met with so terrible ah affliction.” 

“Terrible, indeed,” replied the captain, “ and yet you see 
I live, act, and toil like other men, as if I had an interest, 
an object in life ; but not one, not one. My treasures lie 
buried in the sea, and I am alone in the world, without an 
object or a hope to toil for. Why, then, do I toil? From 
habit, perhaps, or to try and banish thought. Were I to sit 
down idle, and give myself time to think, I would go mad.” 

Edward turned away his head, for his eyes were full of 
tears. Captain Thompson remarked his emotion. 

u Come, Edward,” he said, “ and sit down beside me. 
Neither of you could sleep while this storm lasts, and as I 
have told you so much, Mr. Daly, I will give you a sketch > 
of my past life, if you care to listen to it.” 

“ I would like to hear it, indeed,” replied Henry, “ if it 
would not distress you too much to relate some of its inci- 
dents.” 

“ No,” replied the captain. “ It is terrible, for years, to 
be brooding over one great sorrow, and to have no one that 
you can unburthen your heart to. Perhaps, too, I have an 
object in relating to you my history, and a favor to ask.” 

He paused for some time, and then commenced to relate 
that which I shall set down in the next chapter. 


432 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


* 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“ I believe,” said the captain, “ it is best that I should be- 
gin at the beginning. Not that my life has been marked 
by incidents worthy of being noticed in a regular form, but 
by showing you what my position was in my early years ; 
how lonely and isolated ; none to love me as their own, no 
one to cling to me as I went forth, or to welcome me when 
I returned ; how the yearning that this left in my heart was 
at length satisfied, and how, oh God ! the avalanche came 
down, sweeping all for ever from my sight, you will be bet- 
ter able to judge why it is that I am a man, moving, act- 
ing, and busy amongst men, yet without an object in com- 
mon with them, without one hope by which they are sus- 
tained. I told you, when first we became acquainted, that 
I was a Boston boy ; I may indeed call myself a child of the 
revolution. That event, which brought freedom and hap- 
piness to millions, was, at its outset, disastrous to me, for by 
it I lost both my parents. 

“ You know when and where the first collision occurred 
between the British troops and the patriots. My father was 
one of those who were dispatched from Boston to apprize 
the patriots of General Gaines’s intended movements against 
them. He fell in the skirmish which took place the day 
after he quitted Boston, and the shock of hearing of his 
death was supposed to have killed my mother, who died 
within a few hours after I was born. My father was w’ell 
known in Boston, as an ardent patriot, and even amidst the 
confusion and misery around I was cared for by some of his 
* brother patriots. Ere they left Boston, I was placed in the 
care of a respectable family, and a sum sufficient to com- 
pensate them for my maintenance during my childhood, 
was deposited in their hands. 

“ I am not going to tire you with a recital of childhood’s 
days, but, so far as to say, that at the very dawning of reason, 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


433 


I felt, somehow, that I was a creature more lonely and iso- 
lated than other children. I have since seen children sim- 
ilarly situated, who did not seem to feel as I did then; per- 
haps it was not noticed in me at the time. 

. “If any of the children of the family with whom I re- 
sided and myself fell out, they were sure to turn on me 
and say, c you’re not our brother, our ma’s not your ma.’ 
AVlien their parents, who were invariably kind to me, intro- 
duced us to visitors, they would remark, pointing to me : 4 he 
is not ours, he is son to Mr. Frank Thompson, who was 
killed bjr the Britishers, and, indeed, his mother, too, poor 
soul.’ 

44 All this, at the time, awoke in my heart two very strong 
feelings : a hatred of the Britishers, — as they were called, — 
and an intense longing to have some one to love me, be- 
cause I belonged to them. The first of these have long since 
passed away, but the latter has remained with me through 
life, in one form or another. In my childhood, it was the 
yearning for kindred. As I passed along the street, I used 
to picture to myself how I should feel if the handsome, good 
natured-looking gentleman I met with, could stop, and, tak- 
ing me by the hand, say, this is my son ; or could that fair 
young matron but twine a mother’s arms around my neck, 
and give me a mother’s kiss. I have followed children in 
the street, whom I knew to be brother and sister, in order 
to hear how they would speak to each other; and so acute 
and morbid did my feelings become on this subject, that at 
home I could distinguish a difference in the tone of the 
mother’s voice, as she casually addressed her own children 
and myself. This may have been imaginary, for she was, 
as I have told you, always kind to me ; in punishing us, she 
was certainly more lenient to me, but when it came to the 
making up, to the kiss and forgive, how I envied the young 
urchin who had received the severer punishment. 

44 Thus passed my childhood, until the shout of victory 
rang in my young ears, and the stars and stripes went forth 
upon the sea, a messenger of hope and promise to the king- 
crushed nations of the earth. 

44 1 see you smile, Mr. Daly, at my enthusiasm, but be it 
known to you that we Americans never speak of that 
event in plain prose.” 


434 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“I am not surprised,” said Henry. “ You, indeed, have a 
good right to feel proud of it.” 

“And so we do, sir,” replied Captain Thompson; “but 
to continue : Some of those who had left me in charge of 
Mrs. Miller, — that was the name of the lady with whom I 
resided, — returned home safe and triumphant, others of them 
had given their lives for their country. In that hour of 
wild joy, I was not forgotten ; for patriotism, in those days, 
was in men’s hearts, active, self sacrificing, and benevolent, 
and the orphan of him who fell at the very commence- 
ment of the struggle for liberty, was thought of when that 
liberty was achieved. I remember, as if it were yesterday, 
being sent for and conducted by Mr. Miller into a large room, 
where a number of gentlemen were sitting at a long table. 

44 4 This is Frank Thompson, gentlemen,’ said my guar- 
dian, 1 the boy whom you wished to see.’ 

“They all turned round and looked at me; 4 you have 
taken good care of him Miller,’ said one of them, a rough, 
sun-burnt man. 4 How are you boy ?’ 

44 Yery well, thank you, sir,” I replied. 

44 4 You don’t know me,’ he continued. 

“No sir.” 

“ ‘ Nor remember my carrving you in my arms to Mr. 
Miller’s ?’ 

“No sir.” 

44 4 Yery odd that, seeing you were, at the time, forty- 
eight hours old, or thereabouts, but I suppose I am a little 
changed, as we have had some rough work since. This, 
gentlemen,’ he continued, as he addressed the others, 4 is 
the boy I have been speaking to you about ; his father was 
a brave, true-hearted patriot, and died for the liberty we 
now enjoy; he cannot share our triumph, but his child 
shall reap some of the advantages. Would we could suc- 
cor the children of all who have fallen.’ 

44 4 His mother is dead, likewise, is she not?’ asked 
another of those present. 

44 4 Yes, she died from the shock ot her husband’s death. 
This boy has no relatives in the world, that I know of.’ 

44 Oh how those words struck upon my heart, calling up 
the old feelings in full force. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 435 

“‘What would you like to be, my little man?’ asked 
one of the gentlemen. 

“ I’d like to be a sea captain, sir, and to go fight the 
Britishers,” I replied. 

“ There was a general smile at this, and he who had first 
spoken in my behalf, said : 

“ ‘ Bravely answered, and I don’t see why you should not 
be one ; but as for fighting the Britishers I guess they’re all 
clean whipped already.’ 

“Did you kill them all, sir?” I asked. 

“He laughed as he answere ^ let a few make 

tracks home, boy, just to have them ten w nut queer, long- 
legged runaway critters we Yankees are.’ 

“The gentlemen conversed for some time amongst them- 
selves, and I overheard my friend saying : 

“ ‘ He seems a brave, smart boy ; our young navy will want 
many such, and I think it is the best thing we can do for 
him.’ Then he addressed me: ‘My boy,’ he said, 4 before 
you go to whip any one, you must goto school. Mr. Miller 
would you have any objection to keep him still in your 
charge ?’ ’ 

“‘On the contrary,’ replied my guardian, ‘I would be 
very loth to part with him.’ 

“‘Then he is to remain with you for the present, and you 
will send him to school regularly.’ 

“Accordingly, I returned home with Mr. Miller, and from 
that out attended a grammar school, in company with his 
children. 

“ I had been going to school about a year and a-half, when 
a gentleman came to board at our house. He had been a 
professor in an English college — how he came to lose this 
position, I cannot say. I believe it was on account of some 
religious views which he held; be that as it may, he left 
the old world in disgust, and came to reside in America. 
Most fortunate was it for me, that he came to Mr. Miller’s 
to board. He did not take his meals with the family ; he had 
one floor exclusively to himself, and had his meals served 
up to him in his own room. At first I hated this man ; he 
was English, and, in consequence, as I supposed, my mortal 
enemy. I would neither go near him or carry a message 


436 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


for him ; but my feelings soon changed towards him, and I 
jumped into the other extreme; loving him soon far more 
intensely and truly than I ever hated him, for it was more 
natural for me to love than to hate. I believe what first 
drew me towards him was, that I saw him, like myself, iso- 
lated and alone in the world. 

“ Professor Wagstaff, who was very fond of children, re- 
marked that I would never go near him, like the others, and 
he made inquiries of Mr. Miller, relative to me. The latter 
informed him who I was, and the cause of my shunning 
him. After this, when he met me on the stairs, he would 
take me in his arms, calling me his little enemy, and carry 
me, by main force, to his room. But in a short time my 
greatest happiness was to be with him, and a new world 
seemed to open before me, as he taught and explained to 
me things I had never heard of before. I have to thank this 
good man for an education, superior, perhaps, to that of 
most merchant captains, and even for that portion of it 
which relates to my profession, for being told by Mr. Miller 
that I was intended for the navy, he instructed me in nav- 
igation, and few ever entered the service better instructed 
in its theory. Although the professor often spoke on relig- 
ion, I never knew what creed he professed, but he was a 
good man and a practical Christian. ‘ Love , 7 he would say, 
‘is the basis of Christianity; because Mary loved much, 
much was forgiven her. Because Christ loved us, he died 
for us, nor has he left us ignorant of how he would have 
that love returned. I was hungry and you gave me to eat, 
thirsty and you gave me to drink . 7 No doubt but it was the 
tact of my being an orphan, that made him take the inter- 
est he did in my instruction — although I had the vanity 
when a boy, to attribute it to other causes — thus putting 
into practice that which he preached. But I am getting 
prosy, Mr. Daly, and tire you . 77 

“ You interest me very much, captain. Pray proceed , 77 
replied Henry. 

“ I thought my yarn would have been spun out long be- 
fore , 77 said the captain. “ I will go on deck for a moment to 
see how things look, and when I return I will finish . 77 On 
his return he said : 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


437 


“ The gale has nearly spent itself, so you will be able to 
have a good night’s rest; but as I have commenced to tell 
you my past history, I will bring it to a conclusion now, if 
you are not too sleepy to listen.” 

Henry begged him to proceed. 

“ At fourteen,” continued the captain, “ I entered the 
American navy, but, after doing so, I had many opportu- 
nities of returning to my old home, — sometimes for a period 
of three months, — so that I was seventeen before I ceased 
to receive instructions from my friend the professor. In 
the war of 1812, I commanded a privateer. I hope I did 
my duty; at least I was successful in making some valuable 
prizes. At the close of the war I returned to Boston. Pro- 
fessor Wagstaff was dead, so was Mr. Miller and his wife. 
My share of prize money was quite a little capital, but I 
could not remain idle. After the war, several of those who 
had served through it, joined the merchant service, myself 
included. In this way I became acquainted with Mr. Bear- 
croft. My life heretofore was an active one ; yet was there 
ever in my heart a void, a craving for that love I had never 
known. My success in life brought me no happiness, be- 
cause there was no one to share it with me ; thus did the 
feelings of childhood accompany me into manhood. I went 
into danger, not recklessly, but with a calm indifference, for 
I felt there was none to mourn for me if I fell, if I triumphed, 
none to rejoice. You may say that Iliad my country; 
true, but love of country failed to fill up this inner void in 
my heart, and were it not that I was mindful of the lives 
of those under my command, and jealous of the honor of 
our flag, my indifference of life would have amounted to 
rashness. Judge you, then, how the heart of such a man 
entwined itself round and round two beings that at length 
came to his side, — a wife and child. Mine, mine, — mine 
alone ! — to love me and be beloved by me. A life-longing 
was satisfied, and from the inner world, I looked upon the 
outer one, not with my old indifference, but with trembling 
happiness.” 

The captain rose as he spoke, and going into the state- 
room, returned in a few moments with two miniatures. 

• 4 Here,” he said in a voice so touchingly mournful in its 


438 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


sadness, so different from his passionate outburst a moment 
before, that it thrilled to the heart of his listeners, “ here 
is the likeness of my boy and his mother. I told you that 
I lost them. This day, eight years, they sank before my 
eyes.” 

He covered his face with his hands, and, when he with- 
drew them again, his eyes were wild and fixed, his counte- 
nance ghastly, as if he again saw before him the scene his 
words had recalled to memory. 

u You may well ask me,” he said, “ how I live to tell this. 
I know not why it was, that when I jumped into an angry 
sea, eager to engulf all within its reach, it refused to drown 
me.” He paused and then continued. u I cannot, Mr. 
Daly, go into details. Picture to yourself a storm-tossed 
sea, a wrecked bark ; picture to yourself these in their great- 
est horror, yet, what are they ! You cannot see as I do, 
amidst storm and sea, sinking vessel and drowning men, 
two loved faces upturned to yours, in imploring agony.” 

He again paused for a long time, and, when he resumed, 
it was in a somewhat calmer voice. u Up to this, I had 
known little of Mr. Bearcroft, save in the way of business ; 
but when this great calamity befel me, making me a wreck, 
incapable of doing aught, loathing life, and yet doomed to 
live, I found in him a true friend. His house was my home, 
until, with untiring kindness and pious counsel, he won me 
from the gloom into which I had fallen, not, indeed, to hap- 
piness, but resignation to the will of God. 

“ You have my history. I am, as you see, a man alone in 
the world ; and though I endeavor to fulfill my duties while 
in it, you cannot know how galling is the task that finds 
me, day after day, year after year, toiling without an ob- 
ject — prosperous without a wish or reason to be so. Mr. 
Daly, I will be frank with you. It is in the power of you 
and Edward to lighten this burden. I know the close 
friendship that binds you together ; I know how loth either 
would be to part ; yet I ask you to part for a time. Let 
Edward remain with me. Hear me out,” he continued, as 
Henry was about to interrupt him, “ you would say, we have 
joined our fortunes together and we may not part. But 
both of you are starting in life, and do you suppose that 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


439 


circumstances will not arise to part you? You, Mr. Daly, 
are going to America ; you will meet with one you love ; 
new ties will surround you, and, though they would not 
weaken your friendship for Edward, still, they will lessen 
the necessity for his companionship. Nor would you, for 
his own sake, have him dependent on you. He, too, has a 
path to mark out for himself, and it isf scarcely probable 
that both of yours will run side by side. No, my friends, 
it is but natural to suppose that you will, ere long, be sep- 
arated in the world. But I believe what I propose will 
make your separation but temporary, and leave Edward, at 
a future time, his own master, to go where and to whom he 
may please. If he remains with me, it will be as my adopt- 
ed son ; as such I may not be able to leave him in affluence, 
but I can make him independent; besides, he will learn a 
profession which he has a natural talent for, and yet be in 
a position to give it up when he pleases. More, my dear 
friends ; I will promise you, if after three years, it should be 
Edward’s wish, I will give up the sea, and, seeking you out^ 
Mr. Daly, I, and my adopted son, will join you. You, by 
that time an experienced farmer and mighty hunter, will 
initiate us into backwoodsman craft If God should will it 
so, I will be no longer a shattered bark, drifting on life’s sea, 
without compass or star to guide me ; life will no longer be 
to me a blank ; earth will still have for me an object, for my 
heart shall have something yet to love.” 

As he ceased speaking, he looked anxiously from Edw r ard 
to Henry, waiting for them to reply. The former’s arms 
rested on the table, and his face v T as bowed down upon 
them. Captain Thompson laid jhis hand upon the boy’s 
head, but he moved not. Thus they sat in silence, while 
Henry debated in his own mind the proposal that had just 
been made. He could not but perceive the advantages it 
held out to Edward ; but could he, on the boy’s part, accept 
of it without seeming as if anxious to release himself from 
his promise to protect him? While he mused thus, his 
mind ran rapidly over the brief history with which the cap- 
tain had prefaced his proposal. It gave Henry a clue by 
which he could understand v r hat otherwise would have ap- 
peared most singular. 


440 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


'“Of a truth,” he thought to himself, “the child is father 
to the man. Here is the same feeling of isolation, the 
grasping for something to love, which first awoke in the 
heart of the orphan child,' yet accompanying the stricken 
man. It was with him in his early manhood, amidst the 
strife of battle. At^length satisfied, death comes in one of 
of its most appalling shapes, and snatches from his sight 
those who had given him love for love ; yet does this first 
strong passion survive, Torn, bleeding, and shattered, the 
tendrils of the heart still seek for an object round which 
they may entwine ; and who shall say that a feeling so vital 
may not again give forth green leaves ?” 

At length Henry said : u It is Edward, Captain Thomp- 
son, that must decide between us. You offer him advan- 
tages which I cannot hold out. That you do so sincerely, 
that you would faithfully fulfil the trust you propose to take 
upon yourself, I have not the slightest doubt, but if Edward 
prefers sharing my fortunes, if, grateful, as I am sure he 
feels, for your offer, he hesitates to accept of it, I, who have 
given him my hand and faith, in brotherly love, will never 
say go. Edward, speak.” 

The boy raised his head and looked from one to the other 
with a troubled expression. Then he said : “ Do not think, 

Captain Thompson, that I am ungrateful for what you have 
just said; I am not, indeed, but no one on earth can part 
me from your side, Henry. You know not, Captain Thomp- 
son, what my life was when he first met me ; sometimes, as 
I sit here with both of you, I have looked back to it and 
almost doubted if I could be the same person. Ho, no, not 
even you, Henry, can know what you have rescued me from. 
By your side I will remain, if you turn me not from you.” 

As he concluded, he arose and went up to Captain Thomp- 
son, who stood at the table with his hand resting upon it ; 
“ you are not vexed with me,” he said, laying both his hands 
against the seaman’s breast, and looking up into his face. 

“No, no, Edward, I am pleased with you,” replied the 
captain. But yon are completely at sea as to what I have 
proposed ; so I will not take what you have said as my final 
answer. Tell me, now, but for your affection for your friend 
here, would you remain with me ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


441 


“ Indeed, I would, Captain Thompson, and yon know I 
speak the truth.” 

“ I believe yon, my boy. No more of this to-night. I will 
detain you up no longer. It is my watch on deck. Good 
night, Mr. Daly, good night, Edward,” and the captain left 
the cabin. 

Captain Thompson had wisely forborne pressing his pro- 
posal on either Henry or Edward, judging that the more 
time they had to consider it, the plainer would its advan- 
tages appear ; he had scarcely expected that they would 
accede to it when first proposed to them. 

If you have a doubtful case, and if the judge hesitates, 
press him ; but if it be a good one, why then give him his 
own time to consider on it. 

Before Henry Daly closed his eyes that night, he had 
weighed well Captain Thompson’s offer, and the result was 
that he saw he would be doing an actual injustice to Ed- 
ward, if he allowed any false delicacy on his part, lest his 
motives might be misunderstood, to interfere with the boy’s 
prospects. 

“It is very true/’ he thought, “ circumstances may arise 
to separate us, and how can I hope that any such would 
have advantages for Edward equal to those which are now 
offered.” 

Nor did the slightest doubt of the captain’s good faith, 
for a moment disturb Henry. He was young enough still 
to have faith in men ; fortunately, in this instance, his con- 
fidence was not misplaced. As his mind was busy with 
such thoughts, he tossed restlessly in his berth, and per- 
ceiving that Edward was also awake, he said : 

“ Why don’t you sleep, Edward?” 

“ Why don’t you, Henry ?” was the reply. 

“ I have been thinking of poor Captain Thompson’s story.” 

“ So have I, Henry.” 

“ And of his offer to you, Edward.” 

“ Oh, was it not very good of him.” 

“I think, Edward, you ought to accept of it.” 

Edward was so astonished that he sat bolt upright in his 
berth. 

“ And leave you, Henry ?” he said, half reproachfully. 


442 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Only for a time, Edward. I will miss you indeed ; but 
I must not be selfish. This is an offer, which will make you 
an independent man. Captain Thompson promises too, 
after three years, if'you wish it, to quit the sea and come to 
reside wherever I may have settled down. Three years ! 
Why they are nothing ; and yet you will be quite, grown up 
by that time. If you accept the captain’s offer, I must, cer- 
tainly be on the look-out to have a wife as well as a farm 
ready for you by the time you come to join me.” 

These words, said in jest, decided Edward in his choice.. 
He jumped out of his berth and stood at the foot of Henry’s. 

“ I will stay with Captain Thompson,” he said, “ shall [I 
dress, and go on deck to tell him so ?” 

Henry was a little startled at this sudden resolve. 

“ Edward,” he said, taking the boy’s hand, “ surely you do 
not misjudge me?” 

“ How so ?” said the boy. 

“ You do not suppose that anything but your own wel- 
fare would let me part with you.” 

“ No, indeed, Henry, such an idea never entered into my 
mind.” 

“ Then you would have accepted his offer in the first in- 
stance if you thought it would be agreeable to me?” 

“ No, Henry, that is not it either; but I see now that I 
ought to accept of it. It will give me a profession, make 
me independent, as you say, and” 

“ And what, Edward ?” said Henry, seeing that he hes- 
itated. 

“ And I love — the sea,” he answered, his favorite ele- 
ment coming most opportunely to drown the name of Emily, 
which had risen to his lips. 

“Well,” said Henry, “we will speak of this more fully 
in the morning. We must do nothing rashly. Go to bed, 
Edward ; there is not much fear, I should think, of the cap- 
tain’s leaving home before you see him. And now, good 
night, let us see what our dreams will bring us.” 

While this conversation was going on between the two 
friends, Captain Thompson was pacing the quarterdeck, 
over their heads ; his mind at one time filled with the sad 
tale he had just been telling them ; then again, planning 
how best to renew his proposal. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


443 


“I have set my heart,” he thought “ on having this boy, 
on getting him to love me. His companionship and affec- 
tion would do much to dispel this weary gloom which ever 
hangs around me.” 

How great then was his satisfaction on meeting his pas- 
sengers at breakfast, the following morning, to hear Henry 
Daly say: 

“ Captain, I believe you have nearly won Edward from me.” 

Captain Thompson looked at the boy, who blushed and 
smiled. 

“ Speak, Edward,” he said, laying his hand on the other’s 
shoulder ; “ tell me this is so.” 

“I will remain with you, captain,” replied Edward. 

“ Then come to my heart, my son,” exclaimed the captain, 
embracing him, “for such you shall be from henceforth. 1 
thank you, Mr. Daly, for the trust you coufide to me, but 
do not fear, I will keep my promise, and restore him to you. 
Oh, my dear friends, you have made me happy ; for it is 
sweet to think that old age will not find me in a desolate 
home, and that when I pass away, there will be some one 
to mourn for me.” 

Right cheerily passed the remainder of that day. Cap- 
tain Thompson asserted that his vessel partook of his new 
found happiness, and “walked the waters like a thing of 
life.” The others interested in the arrangement just made, 
although grieved to part, were yet too young and full of 
hope to be cast down. As for Edward, a fairy T land opened 
to his view, and the loveliest fairy that moonlight ever 
kissed, stood upon the shore. Dream on, fond boy, while 
you may, the golden dream of youth! Should it come to 
pass, yet will the reality fail to realize the mystic beauty 
of the ideal. 

Seated on one of the yards, Edward gave free scope to 
his imagination, and the waves that sparkled in the sunlight 
were not brighter or more buoyant than his hopes. He was 
roused from liis day dreams by the captain’s hail, and, look- 
ing down, he saw him and Henry on the quarterdeck. 
Sliding down, he quickly joined them. 

“Well, Edward,” said the captain, “have you been look- 
ing out for land, that you remained so long aloft? You 
29 


444 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWX. 


shall soon see it, I hope. If the wind keeps steady from the 
point it is at present, we will reach New York within ten days. 
But I am going to give Mr. Daly a rough chart of our future 
course, and I want to see how you like it. I do not like, 
much, Mr. Daly, this passenger trade ; and I am happy to 
say that, on our return to Liverpool, the James Monroe will 
be fitted up for a voyage to India. If it is prosperous, I ex- 
pect we will be back in about ten months — just in time to 
bring over Miss Daly. What say you, will you intrust her 
to Edward and myself?” 

“ Most willingly would I do so,” replied Henry, “ but that 
I have promised to return for her myself.” 

“ All the better,” said the captain. “ So if my vessel should 
be leaving Liverpool for New York, about the time you will 
be returning, I shall expect the good fortune of having both 
of you on board.” 

“The good fortune will be all on our side, captain,” re- 
plied Henry. I expect Edward, here, will write to me as 
often as possible, and I will endeavor to time my move- 
ments so that I will reach England about the time of your 
return.” 

Edward rubbed his hands in evident delight ; so far the 
arrangements were most satisfactory to him. 

“ When we return to England,” continued the captain, 
“ I will make one trip to New York, then to the West Indies, 
as I intend trading between there and Liverpool for some 
time. I speak thus confidently because I have $ share in 
this vessel, and Mr. Bearcroft never interferes in my plans. 
Now, if fortune smiles upon me, I expect, in three years, at 
farthest, to have my affairs and connection with the sea so 
arranged that I may retire from the service; but, in the 
meantime, I hope Edward will have more than one oppor- 
tunity of going to see you, wherever you may be located. 
And that reminds me, Edward, you can, on our arrival in 
Liverpool, go see you friends in Ireland.” 

Edward jumped with delight. “ Oh, Henry,” he said “ that 
would be delightful. It would give them such happiness to 
hear about you and the voyage.” 

“I have been thinking of this, before, Edward,” replied 
his friend, “ and it is better you should not go to Ireland.” 


445 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWH. 

The boy's countenance fell. 

“ Why so ?” asked the captain. 

“ His uncle might hear of his return and endeavor to get 
possession of him,” replied Henry. “ Of course he could 
not detain him legally, but he is a bad man, and there is no 
knowing what his malignity might prompt him to do.” 

“You are right,” said the captain, “ such a fellow as you 
have described him to be, would not hesitate to bring some 
false charge against him. Better not to trust him, Edward.” 

We never lose, altogether, a secret dread of the tyrant of 
our youth, so Edward willingly acquiesced in the prudence 
of remaining beyond his uncle’s reach. And then he had 
the glorious hope of bringing out Emily Daly, in the James 
Monroe, to compensate him for the disappointment of not 
being able to visit Ireland on his return to Liverpool. 

Within a fortnight after the above conversation, Edward, 
one morning, came rushing into Henry’s state-room. “ Get 
up, Henry,” he exclaimed, in breathless tones ; “ get up, and 
come on deck.” 

“What’s the matter?” said Henry, “is the ship on fire ?” 

“ No, no,” replied the other, laughing. “ But get up, and 
you’ll see some one you did not see before.” 

“ Our next door neighbor, Smith. Has he called upon us, 
Edward ?” 

“ Oh, stupid ! The pilot is on board.” 

“ The pilot l” exclaimed Henry, springingout of his berth, 
“ you don’t say so, Edward. When did he arrive ?” 

“ Some time this morning,” replied the boy. 

“ Hand me that coat, Edward, I must go take a look at 
him. I can make my toilet afterwards. What is he like, 
Edward? Does he smell of the land — has he an olive 
branch in his bill ?” 

“ He smells very mncli of tar,” replied Edward, “ and he 
has a plug of tobacco in his mouth.” 

When they reached the deck, they saw the stranger stand- 
ing near the wheel house. 

44 He certainly was not on board yesterday,” said Henry, 
“ but how did he come, I can see neither land or boat?” 

“ Come aft here,” replied Edward, “ and I will show you.” 

He did so, and the boy pointed out a little cockle-shell of 
a boat, towing astern. 


446 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Yon don’t mean to say lie came in that ?” asked Henry. 

“ He certainly did,” answered Edward, laughing, “ but 
only from the pilot boat.” 

“ And where is the pilot boat ?” asked Henry, looking 
around. 

“ She left when the pilot boarded us.” 

“ It is all very mysterious,” said Henry,” I have half a 
mind to go over and feel this fhan, perhaps he is but a myth 
after all.” 

As Captain Thompson came towards them, he heard Hen- 
ry’s last remark. 

“ Oh, take my word for it, Mr. Daly,” he said, laughing, 
“he is flesh and blood, and comes from Yankee land. I 
congratulate you, my friends, on your voyage having nearly 
terminated.” 

“ I have to thank you, Captain Thompson,” replied Henry, 
for having made it far more agreeable than I could have 
expected it to be.” 

The pilot on board! What cheering words are these to 
weary passengers. How joyfully mothers awake their little 
ones and tell them, between tears afld laughter, as they 
hug them in their arms, “ that the pilot is on board.” How 
they hurry with them on deck, where the juveniles are 
rather disappointed at seeing only a man, their excited im 
aginations having led them to suppose, at least, a full 
grown monkey. How every one is excited and talking, and 
in good humor. How unselfish the selfish become ; offer- 
ing, with prodigal generosity, to bestow that which they 
refused to lend on yesterday. What a frightful reaction 
takes place when a bilious-faced passenger croaks out, 
“ that he has no doubt but that they will be detained in 
quarantine at least a week.” What an elevated position 
another passenger assumes, when he asserts, “ that he is a 
free-born citizen of the United States, and bound to land 
anyhow.” How all smile on the good-humored passenger, 
who asserts positively, — because he knows nothing what- 
ever about it, — “ that vessels never remain in quarantine 
unless there is sickness on board.” 

“ None of us are sick, thank God,” says the good-humored 
passenger. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 447 

“ No, no,” exclaims every one but the bilious man, who 
shakes his head. 

“ All well,” continues the good-humored man, “ unless 
our bilious friend here, but I am willing to swear, that he 
was a bilious baby.” 

Whereupon all the passengers laugh, so that they quite 
regain their spirits, to the great disgust of the bilious pas- 
senger, who finding no one from henceforth willing to lis- 
ten to him, surreptitiously corners a nervous female, and im- 
presses his doubts and fears so strongly upon her, that he 
has the satisfaction of seeing her give way to tears, which 
makes him feel almost comfortable. 

How wonderful they all seem to think it that the pilot 
should come on board without any of them seeing him do so. 

A little boy endeavors to account for this by saying, 
“ Perhaps it was because they were all asleep.” But this in 
no way clears up the mystery, his mother being the only 
person on board who thinks his remark worthy of the slight- 
est notice. 

How they never tire of gazing upon this messenger from 
the land, — and this fascination is felt by the most enlight- 
ened. It is not so much because he has come to bring them 
safely into port, or that his presence assures them of their 
near approach to shore, as that they recognize in him the 
first link joining them again to that world from which they 
have been separated for a time. 

Despite of the bilious man’s prophecy, they were not de- 
tained at quarantine, and that night Henry Daly and Ed- 
ward Vaughan slept, for the first time, on American soil. 


m 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Glorious America ! — the land of Washington, whose noble 
brows were never sullied with a kingly crown, but encircled 
with the bright ethereal diadem of an emancipated people’s 
everlasting love! 

Glorious America, where the spirit of republicanism has 
at length found a land worthy of her temple, a people wor- 
thy of her creed ! Across the blue waves of the Atlantic, 
from beyond where the fairy islands of the Pacific sleep 
on their coral beds, they come, the down-trodden children 
of earth, to this beautiful temple of freedom ! 

Weary and drooping, they enter, and present their offer- 
ings, — -crushed hearts, yearning for freedom. Lo ! the flame 
burns brightly on the altar, the offering is accepted, and the 
pilgrim arises, free, erect, regenerated and disenthralled. 

How often has republicanism visited the earth, to be 
driven forth again by the crimes and follies of mankind ; 
by the corruption of the priests of the sanctuary ! 

Spirit of freedom, let not this be so here! Give this land 
brave, faithful husbandmen, to guard well from the weeds 
of corruption and disunion, the seed which their fathers 
planted in tears ancl blood. Teach them that though mo- 
narchal institutions may live amidst venality and ignorance, 
the virtue and enlightenment of its citizens are the life- 
breath of a republic. 

A great problem is being solved here : whether man is 
capable of self-government, or, like the hound, requires 
the lash of the huntsman to keep him in order. Now, for 
the first time in the history of the world, has republicanism 
got a fair trial. Here is no barbarous people, led to-day, 
perchance, by the eloquence or wisdom of one man, to form 
a certain form of government, yet willing, on the morrow, 
to abandon it, and lay themselves at the feet of some mili- 
tary despot who shall dazzle them with glory. Here is no 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


449 


old nation rising in sudden fury and trampling under foot 
the tyranny which has been crushing them; yet, accus- 
tomed only to the darkness of their dungeons they fail to 
appreciate the light of freedom when it breaks upon them. 
By it they only see their hated tyrants, and, getting drunk 
with blood, they fall helplessly to the ground, passive vic- 
tims, again to be manacled by a despotism greater than that 
from which they had just freed themselves. 

No ; here is a nation, young, vigorous and intellectual, 
with the teaching of the past and the lights of the present 
to guide it. Rocked in the cradle of freedom, it has grown 
up side by side with its youthful institutions. It was but 
yesterday that the sinews of the strong man were imper- 
ceptible threads in the limbs of the child ; as quickly has 
the power and beauty of those institutions developed them- 
selves around him. Thus all understand and appreciate the 
form of government under which they live, they recognize 
it as emanating from themselves and reflecting back an un- 
crowned sovereignty to their brows. No external causes 
can shake the stability of the republic. It rests upon no 
party platform. Its pillars are the homesteads of the peo- 
ple. While these remain pure and virtuous the republic 
lives ; should they become corrupt, it matters not what party 
cry hurls the noble edifice to ruin. 

But such thoughts as these were, for the present, foreigQ 
to the mind of Henry Daly. One idea alone filled his whole 
being. He had reached the land where dwelt Rose O’Don- 
nell ; to find her out, to delay not, in this task of love, until 
it was successful, engrossed his whole mind. 

Captain Thompson had remained on board his vessel the 
first night she was in port, but he was, early on the follow- 
ing morning, at the hotel Henry had gone to. They lost 
no time in calling at the office connected with the vessel in 
which Mr. Kirwan had taken passage, but they failed to 
procure any information as to that gentleman’s route subse- 
quent to his landing in this country. Sadly disappointed, 
Henry turned away, but Captain Thompson endeavored to 
cheer him as they walked along. 

“You must make up your mind,” he said, “to meet with 
a little difficulty in your search, now that we have failed to 


450 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


procure any information from those people. However 
there is not the shadow of a doubt but that you will be ul- 
timately successful.” 

44 What do you advise now, captain ?” asked Henry. 

44 You must advertise; and I will write to Mr. Bearcroft 
by the next mail, to make all possible inquiries in Liver- 
pool.” 

“I suppose I must do as you say,” replied Henry; 44 but 
you cannot think how repugnant to me is the idea of ad- 
vertising.” 

His friend smiled. 44 What a sensitive animal a man in 
love is, to be sure,” he said. 44 Why, Mr. Daly, the adver- 
tisement can be so worded that no one will perceive the 
presence of the little god. Your inquiry will be for Mr. 
Kir wan . Ho one will suppose you to be in love with him.” 

Henry smiled. 44 As for that,” he said, 44 I think it better 
that my name should not appear at all. God knows what 
foolish idea Bose might get into her head — not knowing 
under what circumstances I have come to this country — 
should she know that I was here in search of her.” 

44 You are quite right. Word your advertisement as you 
think best, and we will leave it at the different newspaper 
offices for insertion. Do not forget to add a request to 
have it copied into the western papers.” 

44 When do you think I may hope to receive information 
through this channel ?” 

44 Perhaps in a few weeks ; perhaps not for three or four 
months.” 

44 Three or four months!” exclaimed Henry. 

44 Yes,” replied Captain Thompson. 44 But if you do not 
hear for six months, you are not to despair or neglect to re- 
new the advertisement from time to time. News travels 
slowly through those distant regions, known as 4 the west.’ 
We Yankees, Mr. Daly, think that there are no limits to 
the west, and you will be much of the same opinion when 
you travel through a portion of it.” 

44 You frighten me, captain.” 

44 What! frighten a lover, young, ardent, brave, and six 
feet high ! Boh, if there are no limits to the west, neither 
should there be to the energy and resources of such a one, 
in such a cause.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


451 


“But you would not have me to remain here, in New 
York, for four months, waiting for news,” said Henry. 

“ Surely not,” replied Captain Thompson. “If news arrives, 
it can be forwarded after you ; but you will remain for a 
couple of weeks, Mr. Daly, until Edward and myself get 
under way. It would not do for you to leave the poor fel- 
low too suddenly.” 

“ No,” said Henry. “ I will remain until you sail.” 

“ That is right,” said the captain ; “ I see you are not as 
selfish as lovers generally are, and I hope you will be re- 
warded by our being able to hunt up information for you 
before we leave.” 

Accordingly, Henry remaiued a fortnight in New York, 
during which time no tidings of her he sought for reached 
him. To remain longer inactive was impossible. Captain 
Thompson, too, was by this time ready to go to sea, so Henry 
prepared to set out for the west. He had been introduced 
to a gentleman with whom he could correspond, so that in 
the event of an answer to his advertisement arriving, he 
would be informed of it. This gentleman also promised to 
forward any letters that might arrive from Mr. Bearcroft. 

It may well be supposed that, as the time for separation 
drew nigh, Edward Yaughan was much cast down at the 
idea of parting with one whom he had such good reason to 
love ; however, Captain Thompson kept both his young 
friends pretty busy, in bringing them round to view the 
elephant. How the animal looked, or what impression this, 
his first view of American life, made on Henry’s mind, he 
has not recorded. Perhaps he thought that one could not 
well judge a people in a fortnight’s residence among them. 

Quite a number of distinguished travelers have, since 
then, ignored this old fashioned idea, and one is at a loss 
which to admire most, the grasp of these gentlemen’s imag- 
inations, or the audacity of their impudence. 

A passing glance at a rowdy in a bar-room, a few short 
naps in railway cars and steamboats, and the materials 
are gathered for graphic descriptions of the manners, hab- 
its, tastes, domestic relations, character, future transmogri- 
fication and spiflication of the American people ; all ex- 
quisite in their way, and having but one defect, a total want 


452 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


of truth. As I am on the subject of “traveled fools,” I 
must award the cap and bells to an old gentleman of the 
name of Sir Francis Head, who published, some years 
ago, his travels in Ireland (a book full of profound knowl- 
edge and research, and used as a text book by British 
statesmen), where he actually spent ten days, half of which 
time he was asleep and the other half locked up in a first- 
class railway carriage. I suppose the old gentleman is long 
since dead ; if so, I trust he has got a better view of heaven 
than he ever did of Ireland. To be sure Sir Francis was an 
Englishman, and the English have always found it easy u to 
do Ireland.” 

The last evening that Henry and Edward passed together 
in New York was a very sad one to both. Him as the future 
is to us all, it was doubly so to them now. Edward’s in- 
tended voyage to India, Henry’s undefined wanderings, 
filled their minds with doubts and disappointments. As 
they were about to part for the night, Edward said : 

“ I would, Henry, that I had not consented to leave you. 
I am sure I might have been some assistance to you.” 

“ We must not think of this now, Edward,” replied his 
friend. “ Keep up a good heart, and we shall soon meet 
again, to talk pleasantly over our different adventures.” 

“But you will be so lonely, Henry ; no one near you that 
you care for or that cares for you.” 

“Well, Edward, I am no baby; besides, you infidel, dare 
you doubt that I shall soon be near one I love ?” 

“ Ah ! that is true; then you will not miss me.” 

Henry threw his arms around him as he said: “I will 
miss you, Edward, as I would a dear brother. But we shall 
meet under happier auspices than those we now part in. 
Think how quickly a year passes ! Well, in a year, my boy, 
we will, God willing, be returning to this country together, 
bearing Emily along with us.” 

The boy’s face brightened, for with Emily’s name there 
ever came to his young heart courage and hope. 

The next morning they went on board the James Monroe. 
Captain Thompson stood by the companion ladder. 

“ Welcome,” he said, taking a hand of each. “ Mr. Baly, 
I trust to restore Edward, at no distant day, to the society 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


453 




of one whose friendship he may well dwell upon with pride ; 
and I call heaven to witness that I will be faithful to the 
trust I now take upon myself.” 

Henry made some suitable reply, but seeing how much 
overcome Edward was, both gentlemen hurried with hi m to 
the cabin. Once there, he gave full vent to his grief, and 
Henry, deeply moved, bent over him, as he lay sobbing on 
the sofa on which he had thrown himself. 

“ Edward, dear Edward,” said Henry, “ good-bye. Keep 
up a brave heart, we shall soon meet again. Write to Doc- 
tor Kelly or to Emily, when you reach Liverpool, and write 
to me as often as you have opportunity to do so. And now, 
good-bye, again, my dear, dear Edward.” 

As he spoke, he kissed the boy’s wet cheek, pressed some- 
thing into his hand, and hurried from the cabin, followed 
by Captain Thompson. 

Henry remained on board but to bid the latter good-bye, 
and had left the vessel before Edward thought of looking 
at his parting gift; but now, as he did so, oh ! joy of joys ! 
he saw it was a miniature likeness of Emily Daly. 

He had risen for the purpose of going on deck, thinking 
that Henry had not as yet returned to shore; but now, not 
for worlds would he meet him. He sat down again, his face 
glowing, his mind confused with a strange mixture of bash- 
fulness, fear and happiness. Could Henry, he thought, 
have guessed his secret ? Would he return to the cabin be- 
fore quitting the vessel? If he did, how could he look at 
him, or what should he say to him ? How he longed now 
to feel the vessel under way. 

Thus the boy-lover sat for more than an hour, gazing on 
that fair, young face, which fyad become the day-dream of his 
life ; and so absorbed did he become in “ love’s young 
dream,” that the vessel had been some time under way be- 
fore he was aware of the fact. At length he was aroused by 
the sound of steps approaching, and had but time to hide 
the miniature in his bosom, when the captain entered. 

“We are going down the river,” he said; “cheer up, my 
boy, and come on deck. I do not wish to have you alone 
here, and I cannot remain with you.” 

“ I will go on deck at once, captain,” replied Edward, in 


454 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


a cheerful voice. “ I hope you will, as soon as possible, 
give me some post where I can make myself useful.” 

The captain was delighted to see him so much himself. 

“ You are a sailor, every inch of you,” he said, “ and leave 
care on the shore when the anchor is weighed. I promise 
you, when we get into blue water you shall have a berth.” 

From this time forward Edward Vaughan labored with an 
untiring zeal to acquire a knowledge of his new profession, 
for there was a talisman ever resting near his heart, that 
whispered, forward! — forward ! — while each day he became 
dearer to his adopted lather. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

It had occurred to Henry Daly within the last few days, 
that he heard Rose O’Donnell say that Mr. Kirwan had a 
brother settled in Western Canada. So vague and doubt- 
ful was his recollection on this point, that he did not even 
mention the circumstance to Captain Thompson or Edward. 
However, as Canada was about the best route he could take 
to the Western States, he resolved to go there. 

He had been strongly advised, by persons of experience 
in such matters, to settle in Michigan — then a territory. 
But before he could fix upon any particular place for his 
future home, he should discover Rose’s retreat. Without 
her, Eden itself would be a wilderness to him ; with her, 
the wilderness an Eden. He was but two-and-twenty, and 
in love ! 

Traveling in America, thirty years ago, was a very differ- 
ent thing from what it is at the present day. There were 
no floating palaces on its lakes and rivers, and the iron war 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


455 


horse of civilization had not as yet gone rushing, panting, 
throbbing and conquering, for thousands of miles through 
the primeval forests. 

Most of Henry’s journey was performed in a kind of 
wagon, or stage, which had nothing to recommend it but 
the strength and endurance with which it bore frightful 
plunges into yawning chasms, and jerking leaps over black- 
ened stumps, as it creaked and jostled over what the driver 
would insist upon calling a road. And if one of this Jehu’s 
horses fell, or the stage lay half tipped over in a deep rut, 
or became locked against a stump, his sovereign remedy for 
such mishap was, “ git up ! — git up !”■ — and a very philosoph- 
ical style of driving I take this to be. Let’s see, now ; our 
hopes are the horses which draw us on, if they fail or fall, 
get up — get up ! The means at our disposal are our stage ; 
if it gets stuck in a rut of misfortune, or locked against a 
black stump of adversity, why — get up ! But above all, ye 
crushed ones of the earth, you giant Gullivers lying asleep, 
while a few miserable Lillputians tie your limbs — get up ! — 
get up ! 

At length Henry stood by the Falls of Niagara, a descrip- 
tion of which has so often been attempted. But pencil has 
never yet caught the misty beauty that hangs around it spray 
or described the crashing thunder of its leap. Thus might 
Lucifer and his rebel legions have been hurled from heaven. 

“ Could enemies meet here,” thought Henry, “ and part 
in hate ; or would not a feeling of weakness, make them 
extend their hands to each other, for support?” 

As he thus mused a feeling of despondency stole over 
him. He was but on the threshold of his search, and already 
a seemingly boundless forest surrounded him. To his eyes, 
accustomed to an extensive landscape, the blocking up of 
the forest was confusing. As* he penetrated into Canada, 
he had no longer boats or stages to travel by. Fortunately 
he had left his luggage in New York arid carried with him 
but a light valise ; he therefore determined to continue his 
journey on foot, and procured a guide, at the falls, to accom- 
pany him. The further he proceeded into Canada the less 
became his dependence on himself to accomplish the task 
he was engaged in. The few settlements he came to seemed 


456 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


but little spots of civilization, scarcely rescued from the 
forest around; isolated, without any link to connect them 
with the world beyond. How he had reached them was a 
mystery to him, and he thought with a sinking heart, how 
many more such might be scattered, widely apart, that he 
could never hope to reach. But, above all, how dreary and 
desolate seemed to him the isolated shanty he now and then 
arrived at. With what feelings of astonishment he gazed 
upon the rough, happy face of its occupant. How had this 
man come here, how lived before he had cultivated this 
patch of clearing around his shanty ? How cooly he talks 
of having “ his eighty acres cleared up one of these days.” 

In truth, such an undertaking, for one man, appeared to 
Henry like one’s attempting to shovel away a mountain. 
One thing now was perfectly clear to him, and it struck 
upon his heart like a funeral knell, without any clue as to 
where the Kirwan family had settled, it was almost hopeless 
for him to expect to discover them by a personal search. 

“ Suppose,” he said to himself, “ that I was sure they were 
in Canada, still, how difficult would be the task to find them 
out ; but it is more than probable it is to some one of the 
western states or territories that they have gone ; in either 
case the chance of my finding them seems almost hopeless.” 

He also lost hope in his advertisement being of any use, 
when he found that the settlers in the interior looked upon 
a newspaper six months old as of late date, and that those 
published in the States had no circulation whatever in 
Canada. In fact his best hope now was that Mr. Bearcroft 
would be able to procure information in England. 

As his dejection increased, so did the difficulties that 
beset him seem to augment. Bitterly, at times, did he, in 
his own mind upbraid Bose for her cruel desertion of him. 

“ What right,” he would ask himself, “ had she to cut off, 
thus, all intercourse with those who loved her, and with whom 
she had passed her life;” but as he read, for the hundredth 
time, her farewell letter, and marked how blistered it was 
with tears, wrung from her loving heart, how, with a mar- 
tyr’s firmness, she counseled him to forget her, to forget 
himself, and be to his father a stay and happiness, he turned 
his accusations against himself for censuring one so pure, 
so good and so loving. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


457 


Then would come thoughts of his father, of the ruin that 
had come upon their home, of his sister, for the first time a 
guest in another’s house with no home to return to. This 
latter thought roused him from the despondency which was 
weighing him down, and made him resolve to shape his 
course for Michigan. His chance of meeting with Rose, as 
far as he could judge, was as likely there as elsewhere. 

Troubled, anxious, and desponding as he had become, he 
could not, nevertheless, help being interested with the 
beauty and grandeur of the scenery through which he was 
passing. There can scarcely be anything more lovely than 
an American forest, in the fall. From the broad, scarlet 
leaf ol the stunted shumac, to the dark green of the tow- 
ering pine, an endless variety of colors and shades meet 
the eye, so bright and vivid, that the sun’s rays, falling up- 
on them, scarcely add to their brilliancy. 

Nor is the ruin wanting, to heighten the effect of the pic- 
turesque — not the crumbling wall, the work of hands, more 
perishable than that which they have formed, — but one of 
nature’s ruins. The giant pine has fallen over the mound 
which marks the Indian’s grave. Perchance five centuries 
have passed since it first shot up from the fresh clay which 
covered the red warrior, when he lay down to sleep with 
his quiver of arrows and unstrung bow beside him. Let 
the mind go back to the time when its tiny branches rested 
so weakly on the earth that the resistance of a pebble 
would have altered their direction ; follow it then, in its 
silent growth, until those same branches have grown into gi- 
ant limbs, casting dark shadows over the lowly, forgotten 
grave, and then gaze upon the huge, decaying trunk, from 
which life, and branch, and limb, have long since passed 
away. How many myriads of human beings have flitted 
from the cradle to the grave, while these mysteries were • 
enacting in the silent forest ! yet, we are told that, in Amer- 
ica, there is naught to remind one of the past. Not, per- 
haps, of particular scenes in the past. Here is no Bridge 
of Sighs, no Traitors Gate, no frowning gibbet. When you 
pass the moldering arch that once gav£ entrance to the 
crowded cemetery, while the hum of thehusy town is heard 
in the distance, — a sense of mortality crushes the heart. 


458 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


As you gaze upon the showy, costly, lying monuments 
around, the empty vanity of the world becomes present to 
the mind ; but here, amidst the magnificence and solemn 
silence of the forest, canopied by a sky as cloudless as the 
dome of heaven, standing beside this ancient grave, no tin- 
seled lie recorded over it, but a mighty and befitting em- 
blem of mortality resting upon it, the mind, attuned to the 
harmony around, soars from the past to the future, and, with 
a living hope of immortality, we gaze upon these records 
of decay. 

Ten days had now elapsed since Henry Daly had com- 
menced to travel on foot, when at the close of a warm day 
he found himself in front of a deserted shanty. When 
last his guide passed this way it was occupied, and he had 
calculated on their passing the night there. 

It was a disappointment to Henry to find it deserted now, 
for from the time of his leaving one settlement to his reach- 
ing another, a vague hope of hearing some tidings of the 
lost one always filled his mind. This feeling was more in- 
tense during this day’s journey than usual, for on the pre- 
vious night he had dreamed that he was walking through 
the woods, when suddenly the scene changed into a smil- 
ing, extensive landscape, in the center of which stood a 
cottage ; Rose O’Donnell stood at the door and beckoned 
to him to advance. The imaginary leap he gave forward 
awoke him and dispelled the vision, still the memory of it 
haunted him during the whole of the next day’s journey. 

The guide now proposed that they should light a fire, 
cook some provisions which they carried with them, and 
remain in the shanty for the night. 

Henry inquired how far they were from the next settle- 
ment, and the man replied, “ that it was all of ten miles.” 

“ It’s pretty considerable of a place,” he added, “ and if 
you wish we can push on to it, though it will be kinder 
late when we get there.” 

“That makes little matter,” replied Henry, “one scarcely 
misses the light of the sun, such moonlight nights as we 
have now.” 

“ Oh, light enough,” replied the guide, “ but you see, 
captain, folks that are chopping in the woods all day, go to 
bed kinder early and don’t like much to be wakened up.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


459 


“ Is there no tavern, then, in the place you speak of?” 

“No ; though quite an old settlement, there is no village, 
but about half a dozen homesteads, some distance apart, 
in any of which we can put up for the night.” 

“ Let us push on, then,” said Henry. 

u Softly, captain,” replied the guide ; “ there ain’t no man- 
ner of use in traveling on a hungry stomach. Just wait un- 
til I start a fire to boil some water ; we’ll be all the better 
after a little supper. Take that camp kettle, will you, and 
fetch a little water, while I am starting the fire. There’s 
the trail to the well, right before you ; you’ll find it a few 
rods off.” 

Henry took up the kettle and set off as directed. On his 
return he found the fire already blazing, and, after a hasty 
supper, cooked with all the skill of a voyageur, they re- 
sumed their journey* 

When the sun went down, the moon arose in full brillian- 
cy; now hidden by the thick foliage, then following and 
peeping down upon them through lofty trees, and anon, as 
they came to an opening, flooding the trail with a silvery 
light. After walking for two hours or more, they came on 
spots where the woodman’s axe had been busy, for cords of 
wood lay piled along the trail. The blackened stumps and 
girdled trees, with their long, withered arms extended, gave 
to some of those clearings, especially when viewed by moon- 
light, a dreary, desolate look. 

Passing on, they soon cleared the forest and came to cul- 
tivated fields, railed in, in a zigzag fashion, and soon the 
cheerful challenge of the watch-dog greeted their approach 
to the homes of the settlers. 

“ I hope we shall find some house, where the family have 
not as yet retired to rest,” said Henry. 

“ I guess, captain,” replied the guide, “ we had better 
make for the nearest one ; the houses here are a good bit 
apart, but look, captain, we are in luck ; I saw a light this 
moment crossing one of the windows of this house a little 
to our left.” 

“ Your eyes are better than mine,” replied Henry, “ for 
I can neither see house nor light.” 

‘ ‘I guess the difference is, squire, that I know the loca- 
30 


460 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


tion and where to look for it. Just look a little here to the 
left. Do you see the light now; it is steady?” 

“ Yes,” said Henry, “ we are quite close to the house.” 

“ All the better,” answered the guide, u but I don’t know 
the folks that live there, so I’ll leave the talking to you. 
Go ahead, colonel, or we’ll have the candle out, and if once 
they get to snoring the busting of a cannon wouldn’t 
awake them.” % 

Thus admonished, Henry advanced to the house and 
knocked at the door which presently opened to his sum- 
mons. 

The glare of a candle dazzled Henry’s eyes and prevented 
him from seeing distinctly the form of the person who 
stood in the doorway, but as he commenced to apologise for 
his instrusion, the light was suddenly dashed to the ground, 
a woman’s arms were flung around his neck, and the faith- 
ful, loving heart of Rose O’Donnell beat against his own. 

Her sudden exclamation of joy, as she recognized Henry, 
brought all the family into the hall, when they were not a 
little surprised to find Rose in the arms of a stranger. 

Mrs. Kirwan, forgetting, for the moment, where she was, 
was on the point of screaming: police! police! but Rose 
reassured her by exclaiming, as she still clung to her lover, 
“oh! aunt, this is Mr. Henry Daly.” Then, blushing, she 
disengaged herself from the arms yet loth to part with her. 

That same night, before retiring to rest, while the moon- 
beams trembled through the vine leaves that o’ershadowed 
the porch in which they sat, Henry told to Rose all that had 
occurred since she left him — how busy death and ruin had 
been among them, how, nameless and homeless, he had 
sought her out ; and, as he spoke, she laid her head upon his 
breast, and her newly-born hopes were baptized in tears. 

“ And now, Rose,” he concluded, “ now that I have found 
you, oh never more shall we part, in life. Tell me, dearest, 
that this is so.” 

She raised her eyes to his. The strong love of her heart 
shone through glistening tears, and, with a long, burning 
kiss, he claimed her as his own. 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


461 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

There is in lower Michigan a narrow tract of land, lying 
between two tiny lakes. You will not find it mentioned in 
any tourist’s guide-book or traveler’s journal. It has no 
bold or marked features to arrest attention, and its calm, 
peaceful beauty steals to the heart rather than engages the 
eye. He whose footsteps have lingered here is loth to turn 
them again to the world he seems to have escaped from. 

So noiseless are the waves that ripple over the smooth 
sands that the solitary tap of the woodpecker can be heard 
from shore to shore. 

From both lakes the ground rises in a gentle ascent, form- 
ing, in the centre of the wood which lies between them, a 
slightly elevated ridge, from which, through the trees, one 
catches glimpses of the placid waters on either side; but, 
before you reach this ridge, you cross two or three mossy 
dells which seem to have been the bed of a river, which at 
one time connected the two lakes; so geologists would say. 

To me, they have ever been the green-carpeted ballrooms 
of the fairies. Itis useless to tell me that there are no fai- 
ries in America, — that the go-ahead Yankee spirit is inimi- 
cal to these tiny vagrants. Stretched, with closed eyes, in 
one of those grassy dells, on a dreamy summer’s evening, 
the little people have danced around me ; the eolian mu- 
sic to w T hich they tripped, the gentle wind, playing through 
the foliage, whilst, over my head, the aspen shook its airy 
castanets, and the woodpecker beat time upon his hollow 
drum. • . 

Almost all the varieties of trees which a large forest af- 
fords, are found here. The lordly oak towers, over thq glow- 
ing shumac, the hardy hickory looks down upon the grace- 
ful tamarae growing in the ravine below, the gloomy pine 
gives effect to the delicate beauty of the maple, whose 
leaves the hot kisses of the summer sun have dyed in 


462 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


blushes, and in the early autumn viewed from the ridge I 
have mentioned, those silvery lakes are seen through a 
tangled web of countless hues of unimaginable beauty. 

In the centre of the lake which lies to the east, and not 
more than a quarter of a mile from the shore, rises an island 
perfectly round, containing about forty acre 3. Let your 
boat grate lightly as its prow touches the shore ; tread its 
green sward with thoughtful steps, for though neither priest 
or incense have blessed it, it is holy ground — the burial 
place of a race that once peopled the woods around. 

On those lakes, when the war paint was washed from his 
face, the red warrior fished in his bark canoe, or, as the 
evening closed around, he lay motionless in the thick foliage, 
beside the coiled snake, waiting the approach of the ant- 
lered deer, that were wont, at sunset, to come bounding from 
the forest to the lake shore, to slake their thirst in its lim- 
pid waters. But the red man has passed away from a spot 
that must have been very pleasant to his eyes, and those 
island graves are all that witness to his former presence. 

In this locality, before the snows of winter had rested on 
the earth, Henry Daly purchased a tract of land. The per- 
son from whom he bought it, had already cleared a few 
acres around a log house which he had erected on the land. 

Mr. Kirwan pressed Henry to remain in Canada during 
the winter, but the latter preferred, now that his mind was 
at ease, to enter at once upon his new life, and to be doing 
something during the winter, in preparing a home for Kose 
and Emily. His nearest neighbor — about two miles dis- 
tant — was a sturdy Scotch highlander, of the name of Mac- 
Gregor, whose family consisted of his wife, a grown up 
daughter, and two sons. 

“ They were but wee bit bairns ” their father said, “ when 
they left their glen yet, isolated from society, their dialect 
had remained broad Scotch. But, in everything else, the 
young men were thorough American woodsmen ; ever ready 
with an expedient to meet a present want, their keen axes 
alone supplying the place of a whole chest full of carpen- 
ter’s tools. 

It was fortunate for Henrjq at the commencement, to 
have such neighbors ; they had already cleared as much 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


463 


land as they could cultivate, so he engaged the two broth- 
ers to work for him during the winter ; and after the site of 
a new house was fixed upon, late and early the sound of the 
axe rang out upon the keen frosty air, and the crash of tail- 
ing timber resounded through the forest. 

. By the time spring approached, the extent of ground 
which had been partially cleared astonished Henry. Be- 
sides doing this, the MacGregors had split several thousand 
rails for fencing, and hewed out frames for a house and 
barn ; then came a great hauling and piling of the fallen 
timber, and burning of the underbrush. In all these labors, 
Henry endeavored to bear a part; awkwardly enough, it 
must be confessed, and to the no small amusement of his 
fellow laborers. 

Thus, for instance, the first tree which he attempted to 
fell, he chopped all round, and when it commenced to sw T ay 
from side to side, he stood out from it, not knowing which 
direction it would take in falling. He was not long left in 
doubt, for down it came with a crash. He jumped to one 
side, but not in time to save himself from a blow from one 
of its branches, which stretched him on the ground ; but 
as for burning the underbrush, he gave it up after the first 
day’s trial. He had, it seems, a happy knack of getting 
right in the way of the smoke and blaze, and he returned 
in the evening with his hands blistered, his clothes torn, 
his throat parched and his features a tawny black. How- 
ever, he bore all his mishaps in good humor, and when 
spring was somewhat advanced, there was oats and grass- 
seed in the newly cleared land, about half an acre of pota- 
toes planted between the black stumps that yet disfigured 
the site for the house, and wheat in the old clearing. 

Altogether, though his crops were neither very extensive 
or promising, still a fair beginning was made, and as old 
MacGregor said, “ from mickle muckle wad come.” 

And now came the crowning achievement of their labors, 
the raising of the new house and barn. For this purpose, 
one of the MacGregors set forth, like Roderick Dhu’s swift 
henchman, to summon the scattered settlers, not indeed, to 
war, but to peaceful labor — not to slay, but to help their 
fellow-man. 


464 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


This is called u making a bee,” and the voluntary assist- 
ance thus cheerfully given, enables the new settler to per- 
form such work as requires a number of hands. 

The arrangements for providing for the comfort and ac- 
commodation of those who came to assist, Henry entrusted 
to MacGregor and his wife. They laughed at his uneasi- 
ness on these points, assuring him that the men neither ex- 
pected or cared to have much trouble taken about them. 

It was a pleasant and novel sight to Henry, this gather- 
ing of the rough, honest settlers. There was a sprinkling of 
Americans, Germans, Scotch and Irish amongst them ; but 
America had set the broad seal of her independence on the 
brows of all alike. 

The frame for the house had been drawn by oxen to where 
it was to stand ; and now, with rude, temporary levers, it 
was raised from the ground, the cross beams dropped into 
the joints fitted to receive them, and the skeleton of the 
house stood on its legs. 

It must not be supposed that Henry remained in the 
woods all the winter, without seeing Hose ; on the contrary, 
he had gone twice into Canada, and, to the young girl it 
seemed almost a beautiful dream, to listen to him describ- 
ing the home to which he was to lead her. How fervently 
she thanked God that this happiness came to her, without 
the cost of one dereliction from the path of honor or duty. 
Had it been otherwise, she asked herself, — had she, instead 
of flying, yielded to love, would she not have attributed all 
subsequent misfortune, even Mr. Daly’s death, to her union 
with Henry? Now, though happiness came to her through 
sorrow and tears, it came pure and unsullied, and, without 
one pang of remorse, she could welcome it to her breast. 

Oh! this morning dream of young love realized, when all 
hope seemed fled, how it filled her whole being with ex- 
quisite, trembling joy. How delightful were those sleigh 
rides with her lover, through the woods, not a sound break- 
ing in upon the stillness, as they glided along, but the tink 
ling of the sleigh bells ; how pleasant was it, at such times, 
to speak of Emily, and of the expected happiness of again 
meeting with her. Pleasing was it, to her maidenly re- 
serve, that Henry always coupled his sister’s name with her 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


465 


own when he spoke of their living in their new home, and 
how Rose blushed and laughed when Henry read to her 
Emily’s last letter, in which she peremptorily insisted on 
their getting married, and having the honeymoon over, be- 
fore he returned for her. 

u She had no notion,” she wrote, “ to allow herself to be 
tormented by the billing and cooing of two lovers. When 
they were once married, she had no doubt but that they 
would tight, like other couples, in a comfortable, rational 
way.” 

But this parting with her lover was a terrible idea to 
poor Rose. True, she once had strength to voluntarily 
abandon him, but she had then accustomed herself to chain 
down her love, even though the links eat into her heart. 
In these latter days she had given up all to love ; no longer 
guarded, it became a tyrant, and she, its soft, timid slave. 
She was no longer a heroine, but a weak, loving girl, trem- 
bling at the shadow of that which she had once braved. But 
heaven, as if to reward her for past sulfering, so bravely en- 
dured, willed that she should not/ be again parted from her 
lover. 

It happened in this wise : Henry had never proposed or 
intended that he and Rose should be married, until a year 
had elapsed from the time of his father’s death ; it was a re- 
spect due to the memory of a good father, and one which 
his son never thought of evading. Accordingly, it was ar- 
ranged that the marriage should take place at the expira- 
tion of the year, and that Henry should leave for Ireland 
the following month. 

No doubt it gave the young lover many painful twitches 
to think that he should have to part with his bride ; but 
then, it was very pleasant to think of again meeting with 
Emily, of telling Doctor Kelly all he had done, and pictur- 
ing to himself the old man walking up and down the room, 
rubbing his hands, as he was wont to do when greatly 
pleased, then stopping, from time to time, to ask Henry 
some question relative to his new home, or the country in 
general ; or, perhaps, to say in a pleasant, joking way, a 
very wise thing. 

Another picture was, the whole family sitting around the 


466 THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

fire of an evening, questioning him of his travels ; the doctor 
gravely proposing, that, to prevent confusion, and for the ac- 
commodation of all parties, not more than three should speak 
at the same time. The servant hunted from the room, when 
he entered with candles, — “ no, no, far pleasanter to sit and 
chat by the light of the fire.” So it is, and for the compli- 
ment paid to it, the fire sparkles and fumes in the grate, 
sending a host of bright sparks up the chimney, whilst by 
its ruddy reflection, the faces of those around are alternate- 
ly thrown into light and shade. 

Such were familiar pictures to Henry’s mind, and although 
they did not console him for parting with Rose, yet he look- 
ed forward to their realization with pleasure. 

But in the latter end of May, — when he went for the third 
time into Canada, intending not to return to Michigan un- 
til after his visit to Ireland, — two letters arrived ; one from 
Emily to Rose, and the other from Doctor Kelly, to Henry. 

It would have been difficult to have analyzed Henry’s feel- 
ings, after he had read the doctor’s letter. 

Dalystown, and all the other landed property which had 
been in the possession of the Dalystown family for centu- 
ries, had been sold by private sale. 

The sale was most advantageous, realizing sufficient to 
pay the encumbrances, including the money advanced by 
Doctor Kelly to Henry, Emily’s two thousand pounds, which 
were lodged in the bank until she became of age, and leav- 
ing a balance of a few hundred pounds, after paying all 
debts and costs. 

In this transaction Mr. Carroll had shown himself an hon- 
est, upright man. So far, so good. Henry, of course, ex- 
pected nothing less than that his property would be sold ; 
he and his friends had exerted themselves to bring this 
event about ; and, although the news of its actually having 
taken place gave him a sudden shock, yet the thought that 
he now owed no man a shilling, that his beloved father’s 
debts were paid, was soothing, both to his pride and filial 
love ; but what made this news bitter and humiliating was, 
that the purchaser of Dalystown was no other than Tim 
O’Roarke. 

The upstart, brainless bumpkin, to be the master of Da- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


46'T 


lystown ! Lyons, too, acting as Tim’s agent, would be there, 
his mean nature swelling with pride and gratified spite, as 
he gave orders to change, alter and pull down, in a place 
whose former owner would have deemed his servants’ hall 
polluted by his presence. This was a bitter draught to 
drink of. He crushed the letter in his hand and went forth 
into the woods, endeavoring, for hours, to calm down his 
excited feelings. 

When he returned to the house, Rose met him, her coun- 
tenance radiant with joy. 

“ Oh, Henry,” she exclaimed, such news, such joyful 
news.” Surely your letter did not mention it or you would 
not wear that cloudy brow. What has happened, love, to 
disturb you ?” 

“ Dalystown is sold, sweet Rose.” 

She glided up to him and twined her arm around his 
waist. 

“ Hear Henry,” she said, in a pitying voice. “ But, love, 
you expected this.” 

“ But, Rose, Tim O’Roarke is the purchaser. God of 
heaven! if a gentleman had taken my father’s place, I 
would never murmur.” 

She drew closer to him ; he looked down upon her, all 
love as she was, and the frown passed away from his face. 

“ What is this news in yours, bird ?” he said. The doc- 
tor’s letter was all taken up about business. He said he 
would leave to Emily to explain some new arrangement 
they had made. What is it, love ?” 

“ You are not to leave me, Henry.” 

“ How ; what do you mean ?” 

A Emily is to come out without your having to return 
for her.” 

“To come out alone? No, no, Rose, this must not be.” 

“ No, Henry, not alone; read her letter.” 

When he did so, he caught Rose in his arms and kissed 
her. 

“ I am glad of this, love,” he said. “ It was, indeed, hard 
to think of parting with you; but to go to Ireland now, to 
be within a few miles of Dalystown, desecrated as it is, in 
my eyes, would almost madden me.” 


46S 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


While Rose is chasing away the sadness from Henry’s 
face, and he is forgetting aught else but that he loves her, 
I, who have seen Emily’s letter, will, as in duty bound, dis- 
close its contents. 

A near relative of Dr. Kelly’s deceased daughter-in-law 
had received an appointment, connected with the English 
embassy in America, and, as the gentleman was a married 
man, and intended to bring his wife out with him, the doc- 
tor came to the conclusion that it would be far better if 
Emily could accompany them to this country, and thus do 
away with the necessity of her brother’s returning for her. 

The old man had always maintained a friendly corres- 
pondence with his daughter-in-law’s family, and, on hearing 
of this appointment, he wrote, asking when Mr. Ferguson 
was to leave for America, and if Mrs. Ferguson would take 
Emily under her charge. His letter was answered by the 
lady herself waiting on Emily, to say how delighted she 
should be to have her for a traveling companion, and that 
they were to leave about the end of June. 

“ In line,” Wrote Emily, u all is concluded. Mrs. Fergu- 
son spent a week at the Grove ; I like her very much ; so by 
the time Henry would have been coming for me, I will be 
on my way to join you.” 

The date of their leaving, and the name of the vessel, 
Henry was to be informed of in a subsequent letter, as it 
would be necessary for him to go to New York to meet 
his sister. 

“ And now, Rose,” said Henry, as they talked over all this, 
do you not see, love, that we must hurry and get married, 
or we will have Emily scolding us for not obeying her com- 
mands.” 

Eose blushed, as she made answer: “ You forget, Henry, 
that was in case of your being obliged to return for her; 
now it is quite different.” 

u Nay, my little casuist, you shall not get off that way ; 
her reason still holds good.” 

“ If it ever did, sir. But wait, dear Henry, until Emily, 
arrives ; it is but for a few weeks, and then” 

“ And then, Eose ?” 

“ She can be my bridesmaid, Henry. You would not re- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


469 


fuse if you knew what happiness it will be to me to have 
her with me.” 

“ I can refuse you nothing, sweetheart,” replied her lov- 
er, kissing her lips, ere they had time to thank him in words ; 
nevertheless they did thank him, and very sweetly too. 

Before Henry set out for New York to meet his sister, a 
letter arrived from Edward Vaughan. He had reached Cal- 
cutta in safety, and Captain Thompson’s kindness knew no 
bounds. Although he seemed, to judge by his letter, de- 
lighted with his voyage, there was one great drawback. 
He feared that they would be defamed so long that they 
could not reach England before November, so he despaired 
of having Emily and Henry as passengers on board the J ames 
Monroe. Unlucky vessel, — unlucky Edward ; and very near 
to despair this disappointment seemed to drive him ; half his 
letter was taken up deploring it, and Emily’s name figured 
in every second line. 

“ He loves Emily,” said Rose. 

“Nonsense, Rose,” replied Henry, “ he is but a boy.” 

“ Boys are sometimes very ardent lovers,” she answered 
archly, “ but did you not suspect anything of the kind ?” 

“No, never on my word.” 

“ Then why did you give him Emily’s likeness ?” 

“ Simply, because I had two of them. Had I one of my 
own I would have given it .instead.” 

“ I suspect your doing so would have Been a mistake,” 
said Rose, smiling. 

Henry mused for a moment. 

“ If you are right, Rose,” he said, “ do you think Emily 
suspects anything of this ?” 

“ I am sure she does not. He is but a boy in her eyes, 
although there is such little difference in their ages. Be- 
sides,” she added, laughing, “ Emily never does know when 
she has a lover ; I think Anthony O’Kellly loved her, but 
when he perceived how unconscious she was of it, he never 
had courage to tell her so.” 

“ You are the first one, Rose, whom I have heard, doubt 
O’Kelly’s courage.” 

“ Oh, very brave men,” replied Rose, “ are sometimes 
great cowards in such matters. Every one has not the im- 
pudence of some people whom I know.” 


470 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


Here followed a little by-play, made up of a little mock 
resistance and a good deal of real kissing, what, I regret to 
say, my dear young lady, does not concern either you or I, 
at present, and which I, therefore, very properly pass over. 

Then Henry said, musingly, “ If this is so, and if, 

well there is no use speculating about what, after all, I be- 
lieve is but an idle thought of this girl’s, who, because she 
is dreadfully in love herself, thinks every one else must be 
so likewise.” 

“ You show far more symptoms of being in love than I 
do,” replied Rose, laughing. 

“ How so, pray ?” 

“ Because, lovers are proverbially blind.” 

“Only to the faults of those they love, Rose,” he answered. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Henry was very busy now, every moment of his time be- 
ing fully employed. Accompanied by Mr. Kirwan and two 
tradesmen from Detroit, he returned to Michigan to put his 
house in order. 

“ All this will look very wild to Emily,” he thought, as 
they went plodding and jolting through the forest, driving 
a few head of cattle before them, and following with their 
wagons, loaded with ail kinds of miscellaneous articles. 

Their journey was slow and tedious. Sometimes the cat 
tie got wild and went scampering off through the woods, 
and were not got back without delay and trouble. Then 
again, a wheel would come off, or an axletree break, and 
by the time the wagon was unloaded, the damage repaired, 
and the load again replaced, it would, perhaps, be time to 
prepare for camping. 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


471 


Such things, of course, delayed them on their journey, 
and Henry could not but envy the few pedestrians they 
met Y^ith, who, unincumbered, save with axe and blanket, 
seemed to pass them at railway speed. Verily, a light 
purse gives light heels, and a light heart too, sometimes. 

However, they at length arrived at those laughing lakes, 
and as they emerged from the forest, they caught glimpses 
of Henry’s new home, through the foliage which the early 
summer had dressed in all the beauty of woodland scenery. 
Henry and his party put up at MacGregor’s, for a few days, 
and when he saw all the work fairly started, he returned 
with Mr. Kirwan to Canada, leaving MacGregor in jcliarge 
of his property during his absence. 

One happy week with Rose, spent in laying out plans 
for the future, and then he set out for New York, to meet 
Emily. 

The Fergusons, with whom she was coming out, intend- 
ed to proceed south immediately on arriving in this country, 
so that it was necessary he should be in New York in time 
to meet them. Two days after his arrival in that city, 
brother and sister were again united. With what joy they 
rushed into each other’s arms; how they longed to be alone, 
away from the crowd and confusion, they had so many 
thousand things to say and hear ; yet, when they were at 
length left to themselves, how very, very sad they became ; 
for in this, their first meeting in a strange land, neither 
could look upon the other without thinking of him who 
was wont to welcome their return with such tender joy. 
Such thoughts saddened them for a time, chastening the 
joy of their meeting, yet was it not less happy from their 
paying the tribute of tears to the memory of a loving 
father. 

a Your book is full of tears, sir.” 

Yes, sir-e-e, and so is the world. I have not taken a gill 
more than my share. 

Henry now prepared to set out with Emily for their 
western home. He dreaded the long journey before her, 
when he thought how weary it made himself, and looking 
at the light graceful form of his sister, he said to himself, 
<• she is sure to catch cold, or get sick and dispirited.” But 


m 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Emily set out determined to be pleased with everything 
and everybody, so she remained in good health and spirits 
during the whole of the journey. 

I wish we could all set out on life’s journey with such a 
resolution, and keep to it, our recollection of the ruts and 
tumbles would then be far less painful. 

Emily did not even blush, but laughed merrily, when 
flung into the arms of the man who sat opposite to her in 
the stage, and she insisted on carrying the baby, now and 
then, for his delicate wife, merely, she said, to give herself 
ballast and to guard her from future mishaps. 

A1 length Mr. Kirwan’s place is reached in safety, and 
then comes Rose, running down the path to the wicket. 
Emily jumps, light as a bird, out of the wagon, and the two 
young girls are locked in each other’s arms. Then down 
comes Mrs. Kirwan, panting, with a troop of children at her 
heels, and Emily is borne in a kind of triumph to the house, 
no one paying any attention to Henry, even Rose merely 
noticing his presence with a pleasant nod. 

Inside the house, Emily and Rose again embrace, and 
then sit down and cry. Mrs. Kirwan says u it will do them 
good,” and wishing to be a partaker of a good thing while 
it is going on, she commences to cry herself, in a comforta- 
ble way. The children seeing their mother cry, commence 
to howl, as if the whole family were ordered out for imme- 
diate execution, whereupon Rose and Emily laugh, Mrs. 
Kirwan laughs, and the children laugh, and these are the 
last tears which Rose or Emily shall shed for many a long 
day. 

Mrs. Kirwan was in a “ hurra boys” furore about her guests. 
Irish herself, she was susceptible to the claims of birth, and 
in her young days the grandeur and antiquity of the Dalys- 
town family had been impressed upon her; so she looked 
upon it as a great honor that the representative of such a 
family was about to wed her niece. 

There was but one drawback to her happiness ; she had 
no gossips whom she could overwhelm with the news ; there 
was no use in her going amongst the settlers in the neigh- 
borhood, and opening out upon them ; she had tried it once, 
and came back routed and crest-fallen. 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


473 


“Think,” she said to Rose, “ of that Mrs. Wyman, asking 
me, if Mr. Daly was “ kinder handy” with the axe, and when 
I told her that he had never handled an axe or plough in 
his life, she said , 4 them kind of folks had better stop at home, 
and that she would be sorry her Rachel took up with one 
of them,’ under these circumstances, as a kind of safety 
valve for her pent up feelings, she was in the habit of kick- 
ing Mr. Kirwan under the bedclothing, and impressing upon 
him the honor that was about to be reflected upon him 
through her; but her guests were so quiet and unassuming 
— your true lady or gentleman always is so — that she soon 
began to respect them, more for themselves than for their 
pedigree. 

And now, the time was at hand when Henry Daly and 
Rose O’Donnell were to become one. How beautiful the 
earth appeared to the young lovers. Standing hand in hand, 
on the threshold of life, hope seemed to beckon them on to 
a bright, unclouded future. 

The marriage was to be a very simple, quiet affair, the 
very opposite to those that take place in St. George’s church, 
Hanover Square, London, and yet, a lovelier bride than 
Rose never stood before its altar — I beg your pardon, my 
Lord Bishop of London, I suppose St. George’s church, Han- 
over Square, has ho such Popish relic. 

The party were to go in the morning to the little log 
church, about three miles distant, and after the ceremony, 
Henry, Rose, and Emily were to leave for Michigan, stay 
a week in Detroit, and then set out for their new home. 

Mrs. Kirwan was for having the bridal procession as im- 
posing as possible, — Henry, Rose, and Emily, in the vehicle 
which was to convey them to the confines of Canada, Kir- 
wan and his wife in a ricketty buggy, got on its legs for the 
occasion, with every probability of its getting off them at the 
shortest notice, — while the children and helps were to bring 
up the rear in an ox wagon. She had even commenced to 
hunt up ribbons to tie onthe hornsof the oxen, but though 
Henry could not help laughing outright when she laid her 
programme before him, he was far from wishing to see it 
carried out. 

“ For mercy sake, Emily,” he said, “speak to Rose, and 


474 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


both of you try and get this ridiculous idea out of Mrs. Kir- 
wan’s head, without offending her. Only think of oxen with 
ribbons flying from their horns ! On my word, it would be 
like the procession of some pagan sacrifice, and you and 
Rose the lovely victims. We will walk to the church, tak- 
ing the Indian trail that leads to it ; our unwieldy convey- 
ance can follow after. Father Benoist has promised to meet 
us at ten o’clock, and by leaving early we will have plenty 
of time to reach the church at that hour ; Mr. and Mrs. Kir- 
wan can go in our carriage, that is, unless you and Rose 
think the walk too far.” 

“Not at all,” replied Emily. “ You know, of old, that 
Rose and I are famous walkers. I will arrange all about it.” 

So, on a calm, sunny morning, towards the close of sum- 
mer, bride and bridegroom walked to the log church, and 
knelt before its rude altar, and Jvowed to love and cherish 
each other until death. 

No organ pealed, no fashionable crowd hurried forward 
to give them their hollow congratulations ; but, hidden in 
their leafy choir, the birds sang sweet anthems, and the 
wild vine waved a greeting to them as they passed from be- 
neath the lowly porch ! 

Home ! It has ever a sweet, holy sound, though it be a 
new and strange one that we go to. There is a world of 
beauty in the word itself. Poets have woven around it the 
most beautiful imagery ; yet, it stands out amidst those clus- 
tering gems of words, the brightest of them all,' and when 
the book is closed, the imagery, but fading shadow in the 
mind, this word has still an echo in the heart. 

There is ever hope for the most abandoned, when they 
have pleasant home recollections to look back to ; such may 
be obscured, but they are never effaced. Nay, so suscepti- 
ble do they often remain, that a strain of gentle music, or 
the perfume of a simple flower, will awaken them into life. 

The journey of the bridal party home, was a happy one 
and if there was a good deal of jolting, there was also a good 
deal of laughing in the greenwoods. 

Henry, during the journey, obstinately refused to de- 
scribe their new home, — albeit he had done so a hundred 
times before,-— or to let them know when they might ex- 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


475 


pect to reach it, and iCose and Emily, becoming indignant 
and independent, laid heavy bets with him that they would 
know it on reaching it. 

Thus they journeyed on, laughing and chatting until they 
came to the shore of the lake having the island in its cen- 
tre ; both his companions looked at Henry, there was a 
flush upon his face. Then they clapped their little hands in 
triumph, exclaiming, “ we’re at home ! here it is !” 

“ Where ?” said Henry, as the horses’ heads were turned 
from the lake and they again entered the forest. 

Rose and Emily looked disappointed. 

“ Ah, I’m so sorry,” said the former, “ but I thought that 
this lovely little lake looked like the one you described to 
me.” 

“ It is the same, dear Rose,” answered Henry, “ but we go 
to Mr. MacGregor’s for to night ; I am delighted that I lost 
my wager. Look, you can see our new home through 
those trees.” 

“You shall pay double, sir, for your heartless duplicity,” 
said Emily, “ but do, Henry, let us stop and run up to the 
house to look at it.” 

“ Not to-night, Emily, it is late ; we go there to-morrow 
to remain.” 

“ And we will pray dear, to-night,” said Rose, as she took 
Emily’s hand between her own, “ that this, our new home, 
may be as peaceful as it is beautiful.” 

Miss MacGregor accompanied them on a visit, the next 
day, to initiate them into the mysteries of American house- 
wifery, but it must be confessed that there was but little 
progress made by either of the novices, for the first month 
or so. 

There were so many little dells to explore, so many dif- 
ferent points to select from which to view the lakes, the 
house and wooded shores ; it was so pleasant and exciting 
to lose one’s way when not more than a few hundred yards 
from the house, and then, just when thoughts of bears, 
snakes and Indians were coming to the mind, to find one’s 
self standingright before it. 

Then there were those delightful boat rides on the lakes, 
and rambles on the island, and musings by its graves. 
. 31 


476 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


Sometimes they were accompanied by one of the young 
MacGregors, who acted as boatman, and after landing, he 
and Henry would take their guns and go into the woods 
in search of game, and it would have been a sight full of 
interest to a contemplative mind, those two fair, lovely 
women, representing the race of the conqueror, gazing 
with pensive eyes, where slept the conquered children of 
the forest. 

“ Surely,” said Emily, one evening, as they crossed over 
from the icland, “ those graves will never be disturbed.’* 

“ I dinna ken that,” said MacGregor. “ It may be pur- 
chased by some one who will build there, and you see the 
best site for a house is just where those mounds are,” 

As he spoke, he rested on his oars, and all looked back 
at the island. There it lay in its silent beauty, not a ripple 
on its shore ; its green foliage just sprinkled by autumn’s 
first golden shower. 

“ I will never have any pleasure in going there again,” 
said Emily. “ I will always fear to find, some day, that 
lonely burial ground desecrated, and those poor old Indian 
apple trees that guard it, uprooted.” 

“ What if we buy it, Emily,” said Henry. 

“ Oh, delightful !” she answered. 

“ Do you know, George,” asked Henry, “ what value is 
set upon it, or to whom one should apply f’ 

“My father can tell you all about it,” answered Mac- 
Gregor. “ I suppose it would fetch about three hundred 
dollars.” 

“ Then I will purchase it, and we will build a summer 
house there, Emily, and make you and Rose the guardian 
genii of the lonely isle.” 

“ Beautiful,” said Emily, waving her straw hat. “ What 
a dear, good brother you are, to be sure. You know, Rose, 
he has always spoiled me, so you must not prevent him 
from doing so now.” 

“ Do not fear, Emily,” answered Rose, laughing, “ I am 
not going to make so hopeless an attempt.” 

But, what engaged most of their time ; was the planning 
and laying out a flower garden. First, there were many 
solemn debates held, as to the most suitable place. Both 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


477 


♦ 


Rose and Emily wished to have it at the right of the house, 
because the one at Daly&town stood so ; but this would give 
it a northern aspect. Here was a slight damper at the com- 
mencement, and though Henry suggested something about 
making inquiries whether Joshua w T as still in the sun bus- 
iness, and if they could make arrangement with him, there 
was nothing to do for it but place it at the left of the house. 
The next thing was to have it resemble, as nearly as possi- 
ble, the one it was intended to represent, — to have it of the 
same extent was out of the question, for many a day to 
come. Indeed, there were frightful obstacles, in the way 
of blackened stumps, to laying it out at all, but George 
MacGregor spent a few very busy days in grubbing around 
those with spade and axe, after which he and Henry at- 
tached the oxen to them with long chains ; then, after a 
deal of hawing and geeing, they were dragged out, one af- 
ter another, leaving big holes after them, which Emily 
peeped into very cautiously, lest she might tumble in ; but 
these were quickly filled up, the plow and drag passed over 
them, and George MacGregor went to work under the spe- 
cial direction of Rose and Emily, laying out rough beds 
and walks, which were to be dressed up and furnished the 
following spring. 

It was novel, and pleasant enough to the young man, to 
hear their sweet voices, and have their bright eyes looking 
at him as he worked. 

But by-and-bye, all the hurry, excitement and novelty 
abated, and they settled down, pretty soberly, to attend to 
their domestic duties. At first, Henry was in favor of 
their getting a girl to assist them, but he was met by such 
firm resistance, that he gave up urging the point, and, sure- 
ly, it was worth money to see Emily tripping across the 
yard to milk the cows, her dress pinned up at the side, and 
a little straw hat, thrown in a careless, jaunty fashion, on 
her head ; and, surely, no butter ever tasted so sweet as that 
which Rose made, at least so thought Henry. Neverthe- 
less he had misgivings that all this work would make little 
white hands chapped and rough ; and, like all his class, he 
had a horror of rough hands, that is in woman ; for himself,, 
he rather liked them now, as it was clothing them, as it ^ 
were, in forest garb. 


478 


THE DALYS OE DALYSTOWN. 


It gave him much pleasure then, when, towards the close 
of the fall, a young Irish girl came round, looking for ser- 
vice. Her father had sometime before squatted on wild 
land, and dying shortly afterwards, had left his child unpro- 
tected in the wilderness ; she had made her way to this 
part of Michigan, knd one of the settlers brought her in his 
wagon to Henry Daly’s house, knowing that he was a 
countryman of hers, and one in a position to employ help ; 
for it was already guessed in the neighborhood that he had 
brought a good capital into the woods. 

There was no persuasion necessary to induce Hose to 
hire* this girl, her sorrowful, half-frightened- face was suffi- 
cient passport for her. She was at once engaged, to Henry’s 
great satisfaction. He could now sleep at nights without 
dreaming that the hand around his neck was as coarse as a 
plowman’s. 

Bessy Flyn was a pretty, modest-looking girl, and her 
Irish stories, and plaintive Irish airs, were a pleasing addi- 
tion to the little circle, whose hearts were all Irish. 

In the meantime, Henry was busy in acquiring a knowl- 
edge of American farming ; he had determined to go to 
work, just as if he had no capital to rely upon ; then, when 
he became practically acquainted with the capabilities of 
his land, he could bring forward his capital with more se- 
curity and advantage. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

The fall and winter glided by, nothing disturbing or 
breaking in upon the quiet lives of the new settlers, save 
* the excitement attendant on the arrival of letters from home. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 479 

Yes, it was home still, though they might never more 
behold it ! Home, though the links, which had held them 
to it, were rudely severed ! Home, though an ocean lay 
between ! 

You may. break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, 

But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.” 

The letters they received were not many, and took a long 
time in coming ; those from Doctor Kelly were cheerful 
and encouraging, and led them fondly to hope that the 
good old man still retained his happy, cheerful spirits, but, 
towards the close of the winter, one from Mrs. Kelly to 
Emily read somewhat different. 

“ He has never been the same,” she wrote, “ since 
you left us. He has grown absent and thoughtful, rousing 
himself with an effort. It was but yesterday he said to 
me : “ I miss them all, Mary, the old and the young, but 
what matters it ; this is glorious news we have from Henry, 
and that little lark, Emily, has already begun to sing in her 
new home.” 

Good, good old man !— light rest the green sod that covers 
your ashes ! Surely the trumpet which shall awake the 
sons of men will have no terrors for you ! 

The new year brought to them a letter from Edward 
Vaughan ; he had arrived safe in England ; but will the fel- 
low never have done lamenting his bad fortune in not be- 
ing in time to have brought out Emily in the James Mon- 
roe ; it seems not, for he harps on it still, and Emily says, 
whilst Hose gives her husband a very intelligible smile, 
“ poor, dear, little Edward, what a warm-hearted, good- 
natured boy, he is ; I wish he could come and see us, 
Henry.” 

Henry also received a letter from Captain Thompson, 
written a few months later, and dated from New York. 

“ Edward never tires of speaking of you and Miss Daly,” 
he wrote; “I am perfectly familiar with every nook in 
Dalystown and the Grove, and I must certainly go to Ire- 
land to pay a visit to that fine old doctor.” 

In another part of this letter he wrote, kC Edward is now 
quite an fait at his profession ; yet, I believe, so great is 


480 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


his attachment to you, that he will be far happier in your 
society, and engaged in the same pursuits, than in any 
other position ; therefore, if I had never made a promise, 
I would now propose to you to hunt up some home for us, 
the nearer to yourself the better, that is, if you can find a 
vacant spot in so small a place as Michigan. What think 
you of the west now ? I expect to hear of your sending over 
for that little England to top-dress your garden with.” 

This mail brought another letter from Edward. “ How 
he longed to see them all. What a beautiful place it must 
be from Henry’s description of it! How he should like to 
sail on one of those lakes with Mrs. Daly and Emily” — the 
words “ Mrs. Daly,” written overhead the line, having been 
left out in the first instance — “were there any people in 
the neighborhood ; any young gentlemen.” 

Here there was a great blot. By Venus, the young scamp 
is growing jealous already. 

From this out, the James Monroe never came into an 
American port, that Edward did not flatter himself with 
the idea of being able to pay his friends in Michigan a vis- 
it; but the vessel never remained long enough to allow him 
to do so, and he knew Captain Thompson would not wish 
to put to sea without him, besides, as time advanced, he be- 
came an active, zealous officer, and could not well be spared. 
Thus three years passed over without his having once seen 
his former friends, when Captain Thompson proposed to re 
deem his promise. 

During those three years, Henry had not been idle. Af- 
ter he had got settled, he wrote to Doctor Kelly that he 
wanted hands to work his farm, and if any of the Dalystown 
tenants wished to emigrate, he could give, to a certain num- 
ber, both land and employment. He also authorized his 
friend to assist any of those selected, who required it, with 
money to defray their expenses. 

The commission brought a host of applicants to the doc- 
tor, who selected from them those whom he believed best 
suited; but it gave him no little surprise when James De- 
lany called upon him to say that he and his parents were 
about emigrating to America. 

“ You will give us the direction, doctor,” he said, by which 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 481 

we can find out Mr. Henry. I make sure he’ll be glad to 
see us. 

u But at your father’s time of life. James,” said, the doc- 
tor, “ I wonder he would think of going.” 

“ Better to go while we have something to go with, doc- 
tor. Perhaps if he remained, he would live to see himself 
turned out of house and home.” 

“Well, James, perhaps you are right, still we have no 
reason to suppose that Tim O’Boarke will be as bad as his 
father. I do not think myself that he will.” 

“Devil trust him, sir. A singing bird never came out of 
a hawk’s nest. Howsomever, my father or myself wouldn’t 
stop under any bodagh, and the old man won’t find it hard at 
all, but quite natural-like when he has Mr. Henry to look at.” 

So amongst others, James Delany and his father joined 
Henry. The latter was very glad at this, and made James 
his right-hand man on the farm, giving him fifty acres of 
land, on which he lived with the old couple. 

The consequence of this addition of hands was, that in a 
short time Henry Daly’s land assumed an appearance of 
cultivation it would have taken years to effect, with the 
ordinary resources of settlers. But even when this farm, 
and others for miles around, would be cleared, making the 
wild forest give place to smiling homesteads, there was one 
place that promised to remain in its primitive beauty. This 
was the island, which Henry purchased the first winter of 
his residence in Michigan. Not an axe ever disturbed its 
solitude. It could have been made productive, I must al- 
low, but as Henry was industrious and hard-working, we 
will forgive him for indulging a little in the romance in ref- 
erence to this island and other things I wot of. 

Heaven knows the world, at best, affords but scanty nour- 
ishment for an immortal spirit. It is not well to be forever 
cramming ourselves with pig iron, cotton bales, railway 
shares, and land speculations. Let the spirit have breath- 
ings — even if they needs must be short ones — in the fields of 
romance and poetry; mayhap, it will catch faint glimpses, 
shadowy reflections, of the beauty which awaits its flight 
from earth. 

God has given the flowers color, scent and taste ; the 


482 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


last for the beast, the two others for man. Raise your eyes 
and nose from that musty ledger, my master, or the donkey 
will have the best of it. 

Perhaps the happiest and most tranquil hours for Henry 
were those when the business of the hot summer’s day 
closed, and, accompanied by his wife and sister, he rowed 
over to the island, and, reclining in its cool shade, listened 
to the sweet prattle of those loved ones. 

One evening, as thus reclining. Rose remarked that he 
looked unusually fatigued. Sitting down beside him, she 
raised the hair otf his forehead. “Dear Henry,” she said, 
“you have fatigued yourself too much to-day ; why should 
you do so? How sunburnt your poor forehead is.” 

“You would not have me be like a Bond street dandy, 
Rose, in the woods of North America ?” he replied, “ or an 
idle drone, when all are busy ?” 

“ Surely not, but you have done more, far more than any 
of those around us.” 

“ Say rather, Rose, that I was fortunate enough to have 
means to get it done for me : and, d<n you know, Rose, at 
such moments as the present, I sometimes wish that the 
tranquil happiness we have found here, could content me — 
here, where 

Deep forgetfulness, succeeds the roar of life, 

And wasting passions fret the heart no more.” 

“ And why should it not, Henry ?” asked Emily. 

“ Why should it not?” he replied, raising himself on his 
arm and looking at her with a smile. — “ You, my sister, to 
ask that question.” Then, standing up, he pointed to the 
East, burnished by the setting sun. 

“ There is a goal, Emily,” he said, beyond those woods, 
an inheritance to be won back, though it should take years 
of toil, nay of suffering to accomplish it.” 

Rose sighed ; but Emily, catching her brother’s enthusi- 
asm, replied, “Well answered, Henry. Oh! for the day 
when a Daly shall again sit in Dalystown, as master !” 

Then the little party fell to musing, and Emily, thinking 
of her father, and of the suffering which this pride of birth 
had entailed upon him, felt her spirit subdued. 

“ After all, Henry,” she said, “ we are very happy here, 
why think of returning ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


483 


“ The timid hare,” he replied, “ returns to the form she 
has been hunted from. But all this is so distant, that we 
may defer the discussion of it for a dozen years, at least, 
though Bose is looking as sad, as if she was preparing an 
early start in the morning. Let’s see, this is the 18 th, well, 
we may expect Captain Thompson and Edward in a month 
from this.” 

“ I am longing to see Edward,” said Emily. “ And Captain 
Thompson, you tell me, is quite a handsome man, of about 
fifty-five or so; quite my style. Do you think, Bose, have 
I any chance of getting him to fall in love with me?” 

u He is too old for a lover, Emily,” answered Bose. 

“Not a bit of it, child, I am determined to make a con- 
quest of the gallant captain’s heart. I must consult Ed- 
ward Yaughan on the best way of going about doing it.” 

“ Oh, certainly,” replied Bose. u If you are resolved to 
make the attempt, I advise you, by all means, to make 
Edward your confidant.” 

“ I will put the captain on his guard,” said Henry. “ But 
the sun has set, and we have no moon to-night, to light us 
home.” 

“ But see,” said Emily, u the fireflies are lighting their 
tiny lamps, and the whippowil calls to us from the shore.” 

“ And is answered by the sweet notes of the bullfrog,” 
said Henry. 

“ Oh, you wretch ; I was just going to be sentimental, 
but ^our frog has swallowed up all my pretty ideas.” 

“Never mind, Emily, you will have them back in time 
for the captain. Jump in, both of you, and I will push off 
the boat.” 

“That man’s name, love,” remarked Emily to Bose, as 
they took their seats in the boat, “ is a great drawback. I 
fear I never could accustom myself to it. And then, in 
time, people would begin to call me Mrs. Tom. Oh ! odious.” 

“ And then, ” said Henry, “ there would be the little 
Tommies.” 

“ I wish, Bose, we had got George MacGregor tb row us, 
this evening ; he is much better behaved than your hus- 
band. ” 

The month sped quickly over, at the expiration of which, 


484 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTO WIN. 


Henry expected the arrival of his two friends. If Captain 
Thompson, after seeing for himself, made up his mind to re- 
main amongst them, there were plenty of places in the 
neighborhood to select from ; so, although Henry had been 
looking around, and had fixed upon one which he thought 
would just suit, he waited the arrival of the captain, before 
making any proposal for it. He was anxious, too, to have 
him his guest as long as possible. 

As the time came round when their friends might be ex- I 
pected, (the exact day was not known,) Henry became rest- 
less and idle, — Rose and Emily busy in making prepara- 
tions to receive them. Their eyes were constantly directed 
to the point, where the road through the woods opened up 
on the shore, fronting the house. 

Thus passed three anxious days. On the evening of the 
third, they had remained sitting on the front stoop of the 
house, watching the road until nightfall ; then, much dis- 
appointed, they turned in. 

“Well,” said Henry, they must surely be here on to-mor- 
row. Emily, will you finish the story you were reading last 
night?” 

She opened the book and they soon became interested 
in what she read, so much so, that they did not hear the 
sound of a wagon approaching. In the west people sel- 
dom care to shut the doors in summer, and he who now 
jumped from the wagon that drew up opposite the house, 
was all too anxious to meet those within to stand on cere- 
mony ; so, with a light step, he passed through the open 
doorway on to the room from which the tones of a sweet 
voice now reached him. 

At the sound of the opening door, Henry turned round. 

“ Edward,” he exclaimed, springing up and upsetting the 
chair upon which he had been sitting, “ Edward, my dear 
fellow, how are you ?” 

“ Edward !” said Emily, running forward to meet a the 
dear little boy,” and to find herself, to her great surprise, 
in the arms of a tall young man. 

Then followed a little scene of bustle and joy, during 
which Captain Thompson was introduced to Rose and Emily ; 
indeed, introduced is quite too formal a word here, for they 
met like old friends. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


485 


Of course, for half-an-hour or so, no one thought of sit- 
ting down, or if they did, they were up again in a jump as 
if the chairs bristled with pins. 

Henry went out to see that the team was cared for, but 
returned without haying made the slightest inquiry on the 
subject. 

Edward ran to see after the baggage, but, just as he 
reached the hall, Emily was tripping up the stairs, so he 
j stopped to look after her and then returned to the room he 
had quitted and commenced shaking hands in the most fran- 
tic manner with all present. Amongst others, he greeted 
Captain Thompson very warmly. “ How do you do, my 
dear fellow,” said the captain, “ it is a long time since I 
had the pleasure of seeing you.” 

At this there was a great laugh at Edward, but the fun- 
niest circumstance of all was the ridiculous way Emily kept 
running in and out of all the rooms, up stairs and down, 
with a bright blush on her face all the while. During one 
of those trips, she took an opportunity of whispering to 
Rose, “that she was quite disappointed at finding Edward 
so grown ; that she would not have any comfort with him for 
the future, and that he was very impertinent to kiss her the 
way he did.” 

Rose whispered to her “ not to quarrel with Edward, as 
she would require his assistance in winning the captain.” 

Whereupon Emily blushed twice as much, and told Rose, 
“ she was a provoking creature.” 

All this was very unaccountable, unless there was more 
in the kiss — Edward’s kiss — than has transpired. 

To be sure, there are a thousand different ways of giving 
a kiss. I remember myself, when on returning home, dur- 
ing vacation, how very different was the kiss I gave my 
grandmother, from the one I gave my little cousin ; the for- 
mer — God forgive me — was like a dose of physic, and the 
other, the sugar to take the taste off my mouth. 

In the course of the evening, when the excitement had 
a little calmed down, and they all sat together in the par- 
lor, Emily found it most provoking that she never chanced 
to look in the direction Edward was in, without finding his 
eyes fixed upon her; this confused her and made her blush, 


486 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


and to avoid it, she turned lier hack upon him ; then she 
thought she would just peep over her shoulder. Upon my 
word there he was staring at her back. Was there ever 
anything so provoking. It gave her a little comfort, though, 
to find that on his being detected, Edward seemed more j 
confused than herself. However this would never do, and 
she resolved that the best way to put an end to it was to i 
try and chat to him as of old. She did so, and succeeded 
admirably, and for the present there was no allusion made j 
to his late impudent act 

“ And so Mr. Daly,” said Captain Thompson, concluding ! 
a conversation he had been engaged in for some time with 
Henry, “ Edward and myself have come to moor our ves 
sel alongside of you.” 

“ It delights me to hear it, captain,” replied Henry. “ But 
you must remain my guest for a long time, before you do 
anything final. I would not see you bind yourself down to 
the wilderness, and then get tired of it. It will be a new 
life to you, and therefore it is best we should let you test it.” 

“ There is no use, Daly,” replied Captain Thompson ; “ that 
fellow there is bound to be near you, and he draws me with 
him. So you must not refuse to have us for neighbors.” 

“ It is not likely that I will do so, captain, and I bid you 
welcome with all my heart.” 

Though Edward had grown so awkwardly tall, yet, after 
a little, Emily found him a great assistance to her in gar- 
dening ; not but that he was slow, and made mistakes con- 
tinually, from a habit he had of looking at her instead of 
the work he was employed in, and she was obliged to scold 
him frequently. 

This was especially the case one day that Henry had 
driven Kose and Captain Thompson to a farm which the 
latter was negotiating for, leaving Emily and Edward busy 
in the flower garden. 

u You stupid boy,” exclaimed Emily, for the twentieth 
time that day, “look, you are trampling that lily to death.” 

“ I wish to goodness,” thought Edward, striding unmer- 
cifully into a bed of violets, u that she would give up call- 
ing me a boy.” 

“ There again. Oh, my poor violets !” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


487 


“ I beg your pardon, Emily, I did not see where I was 
stepping,” said Edward, stooping down to arrange the bed. 

As he bent down, the miniature he wore around his neck, 
together with the locket Emily had given to him, escaped 
from their hiding place and appeared dangling from a blue 
ribbon. 

“ What is this?” said Emily. “ As I live, a miniature ! Oh, 
you naughty boy, you have been making love to some poor, 
silly girl !” And before Edward could say or do anything, 
she had the likeness in her hand. But one glance was suf- 
ficient to make her drop it again; and then both stood, si- 
lent, blushing and afraid. 

At length Emily said, in as saucy a tone as she could get up, 

“ Pray sir, where did you get that?” 

“Now or never,” thought Edward, summoning up courage. 

“I got it, Emily,” he stammered out, “from Henry, when 
I was parting with him, and I have worn it next my heart 
ever since, because — because — oh ! Emily I love you. There 
now, I have told you all ; but do not be angry with me. If 
it vexes you I will go again to sea, and you will never, never, 
see me more.” 

We must suppose that Emily was not vexed, for I find 
no mention made of Edward’s going to sea again, but there 
is recorded a portion of a conversation which took place 
between Rose and Emily, on the evening of the same day. 

“And so,” said Rose, “it is little Edward, and not the cap- 
tain, after all.” 

“ Oh, Rose, he is nearly as tall as Henry.” 

“ I know it love, but I feared to vex you by seeming to 
notice it ; for you know you told me the first evening of his 
arrival, that you could never have any more comfort with 
him, he had grown so tall.” 

“ Rose,” said Emily, half crying and laughing, “ this is not 
fair of you. I know it must look very silly ; but I cannot tell 
how much I love him, and Rose, he loves me, oh, twice as 
much as I deserve.” 

“ Dear, sweet sister,” said Rose, as she folded the blush- 
ing girl in her arms, “no one can love you better than you 
deserve.” 


488 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

Twenty years have come and gone ! How sped they 
with Henry Daly, with the country of his adoption, with the 
land of his birth ? What have they written on history’s 
page ? 

Oh pardon me, my country, — pardon me, my own, beauti- 
ful, sorrowing land, — if I shrink frow dwelling on your re- 
cord. I have glanced at it, and it is so blistered with tears, 
so darkened with sorrow, that I may not now scan it too 
closely ; for mine eyes are filled with tears, and my brain 
reels with indignant shame ! 

Turn I to the bright page of American history! Look we 
but over twenty years, and if events, rather than time, 
mark the progress of a nation, a century seems to have 
rolled by ! 

Liberty ! — child born of heaven, — blessed be God, what a 
mother of giants you are ! Out from the primeval forest, 
across prairies and mountains, come states and territories ; 
and as these, your fair children, grow around you, you stretch 
forth your mighty arms, and ask for more ! 

But twenty years since; Henry Daly reached Michigan, 
after a tedious journey of nearly two months ; now, he can 
travel over the same route in twenty-four hours, while, 
stretching thousands of miles beyond him, is still the west, 
dotted with thriving settlements, growing cities, and culti- 
vated fields. From sunrise to sundown, is heard the cheer- 
ful clink of the hammer ; on the high ranges where the 
bison was wont to bound, and by the banks of rivers, and the 
shores of lakes, where the heron and loon kept solitary 
vigil, the mill wheel makes pleasant music, and the bright 
ploughshare turns up the fruitful soil ! 

During those twenty years, Henry Daly’s fortunes kept 
pace with the prosperity around him. Commencing unem- 
barrassed, with a fair capital, his land increased in value 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


489 


as he improved it, and the country around him became set- 
tled. He found himself, after a few years, the proprietor of 
I a large tract of well cleared land, while his money capital 
; was undiminished. Then, as his experience increased, so 
I did his confidence, and he speculated largely in wild lands. 
In this way he became the owner of a tract of mining land, 
and when it came to be explored, he sold out, realizing a 
handsome fortune by this successful hit alone. He was 
j now a rich man, and, from this out, was more engaged in 
| winding up his affairs, and withdrawing from speculations, 
than engagingin new ones. For some time back, news had 
j reached him from Ireland which made him feverishly anx- 
j ious to have a large portion of his capital so situated that 
; he could command it at the shortest notice. 

Edward Yaughan was differently situated. Emily’s for- 
! tune, and the money which Captain Thompson (now an old 
I and very happy man,) left him the entire management of, 

| gave him, at the commencement, more ample means than 
| Henry; but, not having the motive which prompted the 
latter to untiring exertion, he cared not, like him, to in- 
: crease his capital. He was content with the steady, healthy 
j prosperity which came to him gradually. His farm was ex- 
! tensive, well stocked and cultivated. He had scarcely a 
s wish ungratified. How could increase of wealth add to 
such happiness as his ? 

“I would,” he said to Emily, “that Henry could be con- 
tented, as I am, with present happiness ; that his proud heart 
would cease from dwelling on the past, from straining for 
that which, when won, may bring no increase of happiness 
along with it.” 

“ I, too, Edward,” she replied, “ have learned to think as 
you. My children’s country has become mine, but it is dif- 
ferent with Henry; the old place is as fresh in his memory 
as the day he parted from it.” 

“And why should it not, Emily?” said her brother, who 
had overheard the latter part of her remark as he entered 
the room, with his wife. “ Why should it not? I have come 
over to tell you Edward, that I have just had news from Ire- 
land.” It is as I expected ; those few brave spirits, scorn- 
ing life, whilst gaunt famine slays their countrymen by tens 


490 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


of thousands, have taken the field. But they will fail ; mis- 
erably tail ! Who could put men’s hearts into those fam- 
ished skeletons, who lie down to die, while the cars laden 
with grain, on its way to a foreign market, pass their doors, 
— whose hunger is mocked by the sleek skins of the beasts 
that graze beside them in undisturbed security. 

“ Smith O’Brien is in Tipperary, I see,” said Edward, who 
had glanced over the paper, which Henry had handed to him. 

a Would to God,’’ answered the latter, as he paced the 
room with agitated steps, “ that the noble gentleman lay 
dead, on a well fought field, rather than, as he will be, a 
captive in the hands of his enemies ! Yes, I see it all, he 
will be taken, tried, — there will be fat slaves on the bench, 
fat slaves i,n the jury-box, fat slaves prosecuting, fat slaves 
crowding the court, fat slaves looking down on him from 
the galleries, poking each other in their fat ribs, and won- 
dering how any man could be so mad. For, mark you, the 
simoom breath of slavery destroys the power of discerning 
nobility of soul. To such as I allude too, Washington de- 
feated, would be but a foolish rebel hanged. All the noble 
attributes are but the ravings of madness ; chivalrous valor 
but vain bravado, unless in him who wears his master’s 
collar round his neck. They are dead to all generous sen- 
timent. Instinct tells them where to grub,— it tells the hog 
as well. But, in defiance of all this, the chained eagle will 
turn his eyes to the sun.” 

“ Have you received any other news, from Ireland?” 

“ Yes, Emily, I had a letter from Mr. Carroll. He tells 
me there is no doubt but that Dalystown will be sold in the 
Encumbered Estates Court. That unfortunate fool, O’Roarke, 
has squandered every shilling which his father left to him. 
I am sorry tor him, but a fortune acquired as this was, could 
not but melt away.” 

u Talking of the Encumbered Estates Court,” said Edward, 
“what is the nature of this new act?” 

“ Why, you know,” replied Henry, “ that up to this, it 
took years to sell landed j>roperty in the Court of Chancery 
Now, in this new court, a creditor can sell an estate as 
quickly, in comparison to the old course, as you could sell 
a horse.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


491 


“ That is a great improvement, I should say,” remarked 
Edward. 

“No doubt but it is,” replied the other, “but mark the 
time the English government takes to put it into operation. 
Just when property is actually of no value in Ireland, when 
it is panic-stricken by famine, they pass an act, the effect of 
which will be, to throw all the encumbered properties in 
Ireland in one heap into the market.” 

“ This will beggar a large number of landlords,” said 
Edward. 

“ Of course it will,” replied Henry, “ but most of them de- 
serve it.” They had kennels for their dogs, stables for their 
horses — these were petted, thought of, but when a poor man 
approached them, it should be with his hat off', and every 
second word should be, your honor, — your honor. Oh d — n 
their honors,” he exclaimed, jumping up from the chair, in- 
to which he had thrown himself, and again commencing to 
pace the room, as he continued — 

“It is like hacking at my own flesh and blood to say all 
this, but my American education, has opened my eyes to 
its truth, and made me loathe it. Thank God, that amongst 
our many shortcomings, none of my race were ever tyrants 
to the poor, or toadies to the English government, and most 
of those landlords, were both, — not all mind you ; but now 
the government turns on them, not requiring them for dirty 
work at present, — the famine being a far quicker and more 
effectual agent, — and kicks them into the poor house, and 
while Lord John Bussell is spouting in the British House 
of Commons about political economy, the Times newspa- 
per is making minute calculations as to the time it will 
take, with the Encumbered Estates Court, and the famine, 
to uproot the Celtic race from Ireland. Then we are to 
have the millennium there, in the shape of English land- 
lords, Durham cattle, and Scotch agriculturists! But bide- 
a-wee, gentlemen, the Irish Celtic blood is prolific, and while 
your Saxon and Norman blood is growing stagnant, it is run- 
ning in wild waves over the earth. 

“ I am quite frightened at all this, Emily,” said Bose, “not 
knowing how soon Henry will have to go to Ireland, — at 
such a time, too.” 

32 


492 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“We were just speaking of you when you came in,” re- 
plied Emily, and I may as well confess, Henry, that I was 
almost wishing you would give up the idea of purchasing 
back Dalystown.” 

“ I thought as much,” he replied, “ from the few words I 
overheard, as I came in. -Shame on you, sister, but let me 
hear no such wishes, now that the prize I have toiled for, 
those many years, is within my grasp. Ah, Emily, I once 
thought that should I ever be returning to claim back the 
old place, I would have to hide you in my portmanteau, if 
Edward refused you leave to accompany me.” 

“Indeed, Henry, I love the old place as well as ever, 
but ” 

“ But,” said he finishing the sentence for her, as he raised 
one of her children in his arms, “ where our treasure is, 
there the heart is likewise.” 

“ You have come to spend the day with us?” said Edward. 

“No ; I must return immediately, as I have letters to 
write. I only came to tell you this Irish news which has 
fretted and worried me, and I thought that the walk and a 
few round curses at things in general, would do me good. 
From nay soul I sympathize with Smith O’Brien and the 
kindred spirits engaged with him. Their generous, chival- 
rous natures have been chafed into an act which their 
calmer judgments would have shown them to be hopeless, 
at the present time. They will be sacrificed ; the country, 
just now, is not worthy of them. Edward, I would give 
half my fortune to have them here this moment.” 

“ But the people, Henry, may answer their brave appeal 
and rise,” said Edward. 

“ The people !” replied Henry, bitterly, “ where are they ? 
Filling the grave pits of poor-houses, feeding the famished 
dogs in the churchyard of Skibbereen, the survivors look- 
ing on with lack-lustre, hardened eyes. The land is plague- 
struck, Edward. No, no, they will be defeated without a 
struggle; and then, when the bloodhounds of the law are 
hunting them to death, every government hack who can 
scribble a line will assail them with ridicule, a sharp weapon 
to wound a high and sensitive mind, despise we ever so 
much the hand that flings it. Where is Captain Thompson ?” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


493 


“ The boys coaxed him out to fish with them,” replied 
Emily. 

“Well, as I cannot remain, will yon come over to supper 
and bring the captain along with you? Give him my com- 
pliments and tell him that if he would not have me choke 
with bile, he will come over this evening to spin me a good 
long Yankee yarn of how they whipped the Britishers.” 

Edward and his wife accompanied Henry and Rose a short 
distance on their way home. Walking between the rows of 
trees that lined their path, whilst the apple blossoms shook 
perfume around, they seemed more like lovers, still, than 
staid married folks. There was none of the neglectful, 
loitering step of matrimony about any of them. Of the 
four, Henry was The most changed; sun and wind had 
browned his cheek, his forehead was not as smooth as it 
was twenty years ago, and gray hairs were scattered 
through the brown ones. But all these took not from his 
good looks.. The softness of youth had indeed fled, giving 
place to healthy manhood ; but of the two, the character of 
his features had improved ; there was more self-reliance 
and firmness in his face than of old. 

And she who walked by his side ? Ah, even old Father 
Time seemed to be touched by such exquisite beauty as her’s 
and forbore to lay his hand roughly upon it. * There was no 
dimness in those liquid eyes, no lines on that fair forehead, 
and perhaps the greatest difference between the maid and 
matron, was, that her carriage was more stately, her every 
motion more swanlike in its grace. 

Edward had become a strong man, but' his features still 
retained a very youthful look, and as for Emily, fairy, sylph- 
like Emily, her attempt to do the fhatron seemed yet re- 
diculous. She and Edward had been laughing and romping 
with each other for the last fifteen years or so. As child- 
ren grew around them, they were taken into the play, and 
Emily bids fair to have a game with her grandchildren. 

Although, from this out, Henry waited, in the greatest 
anxiety, a letter from Mr. Carroll, which would summon 
him to Ireland, to purchase back his ancestral property, 
months elapsed without his receiving any such. The truth 
was, so many properties were crowded into the Encumber- 


494 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


ed Estates Court, on its first opening, that, for some time, 
Tim O’Roarke’s creditors had not room to drag him and his 
shattered fortunes before the court. During those months, 
Henry saw, with a sad heart, his prophecy fulfilled. u Law 
and order” had triumphed in Ireland. 

u Her gracious majesty” had made a speech to her assem- 
bled Parliament, in which she eulogized her faithful, loving 
subjects (!) in Ireland, and the said faithful subjects were 
now enjoying the fruits of their loyalty in her majesty’s 
poor houses and jails. Nothing could be more satisfactory 
than all this ! 

Smith O’Brien and his colleagues were on board of am 
English man of war on their way to a p enal settlement, bear- 
ing with them the soul of Ireland, and she lay a corpse at 
the feet of her enemy. 

Was not her cup filled to overflowing ? No, by the rights 
of kings, no ! She must appear to the world to glory in 
her shame ; her skeletons must be galvanized, and made to 
shout and dance before their Royal mistress. In the mean- 
time a high commissioner has been sent amongst them. 
Who is he? By Bacchus, a right jovial fellow; no other 
than a royal cook, the immortal Soyer. His commission ? To 
show how easy it is to feed an Irish pauper. The fellow who 
once undertook to make stone soup, if he got a knuckle of 
beef to flavor it with, was nothing to Soyer. Soyer can make 
soup of the stone alone, and an English and Irish nobility 
muster strong, in carriages, to witness his success. He and 
his attendants stand up, like the witches in Macbeth, 
round a mighty cauldron, — the soup is ready, Lady Splat- 
terdash is presented with a spoonful, she touches it with the 
tip of her tongue and declares it delicious. 

Oh ! that I had the feeding of your ladyship for one 
month, on such diet ! 

Then the paupers are marched, in their rags, to partake 
of the sumptuous repast prepared for them — marched to the 
sound of music, for the royal band has struck up — what ? 
It should be “ Rule Britannia,” you will say. No, my coun- 
trymen, it is “ Patrick’s Day !” Oh ! my countrymen, — you 
who have been regenerated by the baptism of freedom — 
you citizens of the United States, — those men, whose squalid 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


495 


misery was thus mocked, were your countrymen, the air to 
which their tottering steps were made to keep time, was 
your national air ! Play it not, — walk not in procession on 
Patrick’s Day, with arms in your hands — before your brother 
freemen, if you forget these things. 

At length the letter, summoning Henry to Ireland, arriv- 
ed. Mr. Carroll also forwarded a newspaper, in which 
there was an advertisement, announcing the sale of Dalys- 
town. Henry read it with an agitated countenance. 

u How often, Rose,” he said, have you told me, in those 
years past, that I murmured in my sleep of again returning. 
But it is no longer a dream, but a reality, bright as the eyes 
of my singing bird ! Dalystown could be purchased for me 
in my absence, but I would like better, love, to take posses- 
sion, — to enter as master — to stand once more on the thresh- 
hold of my old home, and give one look of triumph around. 
By the date of this advertisement, I see I have not much 
time to lose in setting out. But what is this ?” he said, 
glancing at another part of the paper. “ As I live, the 
Queen has been to Ireland ?” Then he continued reading 
to himself, while his face grew crimson with passion, and, 
flinging the paper on the ground, he trampled it under his 
foot. “ Curse you ! — curse you, vile rabble ?” he exclaimed. 

“ What has happened, Henry?” said his wife, alarmed at 
his violence. 

“ It seems, love,” he answered, u the English government 
knew those people better than Smith O’Brien did. There 
is not time for his footprints to be effaced from Irish soil, 
when they bring their mistress there, and a Dublin rabble 
throw up their greasy caps, welcoming her with shouts ; and 
a mob of deputy lieutenants, sheriffs, mayors, and alder- 
men — may the devil confound the vermin — vie with the dir- 
tier — no, they could not be dirtier — but worse clad rabble, 
in running after her carriage, and tainting the air with their 
foul breaths. Heavens ! Though these men were lost to 
all shame, respect, and decency, could not their instinct 
tell them that the blood of the royal lady would curdle- 
with disdain, at the homage of such slaves ! Rose,” he con- 
tinued, as he flung himself into a chair, and his head sank 
in bitter humiliation, “ this is enough to make a man for- 
swear his country.” 


496 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


Since her marriage, Rose had never seen her husband so 
agitated. Almost frightened, she had remained silent, but 
now, when he raised his eyes to her lace and said, “ tell me 
now. Rose, to remain, and I will do so,” she was far from 
wishing to take advantage of the bitter passion which agitat- 
ed him, to induce him to abandon that which, for nearly 
twenty years, had been his daily thought and nightly dream. 

“ No, Henry,” she replied, “ you are unjust to our poor 
country. Remember, Dublin is not all Ireland. Who are 
these men, at best, but what you have called them, — a rab- 
ble, a city rabble ? You will find in Ireland, yet, honest, 
true hearts, mourning for those who have been torn from 
her. You have often told me, love, that poverty will break 
the spirit, even of the bravest ; therefore, though our poor 
country may not mourn aloud, ah, believe me she weeps 
for the brave and true, by many a lowly hearth.” 

Her sweet voice fell gratefully on his ear, calming down 
his passion. Giving her a proud, fond look, he replied, 

“You are ever just and wise, my Rose. Yes, let them 
make the most of it ; after all, they are but the scourings of 
a city who have acted thus.” 

“ And why not despise such, Henry, rather than let them 
disturb you so ?” 

“ Despise, Rose,” he replied, “ Oh, no linguist’s plummet 
could ever sound the depth of my profound contempt for 
them! Nevertheless, Rose, ■contemptible as they are, this 
act of theirs is the crowning infamy to the darkest and most 
terrible drama which has ever been enacted in Ireland. It 
stands out like the lean dog in Hogarth’s graphic pictures, — 
hungry for a bone. There may be, as you say, a pure stream 
still in Iceland, but this scum is all that is now visible, and 
it will take a century to remove the stain which its slime is 
leaving after it.” 

“Henry, God will right all this in his own good time; let 
us trust in him.” 

“ Aye,” he replied, “ in the God of battles — the God of 
vengeance as of mercy.” 

By degrees, Rose soothed his chafed spirit, and got him 
to think of that which more immediately concerned him- 
self. 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


497 


“ When will you have to leave us, Henry?” she asked. 
u To be in time for . the sale, I must be in Ireland by the 
middle of next month, love,” he replied. — “ The sale of Dalys- 
town, and Henry Daly declared the purchaser ! Oh ! Rose, 
that hour will repay me for all my toil and long waiting. 
For the future, Rose, we shall have two countries, for I am 
resolved never to part wth this place.” 

“ Oh, not for worlds, Henry,” she replied. “ Think of the 
happy years we have spent in it.” 

u Aye, love,” he answered, “ wherever our future may be, 
our hearts will ever warm to Yankee Doodle.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

As the day drew near on which the commissioners were to 
sell, in their court, in Henrietta street, Dublin, the Dalys- 
town property, an acquaintance of Mr. Carroll’s called at 
the attorney’s office, to make enquiries relative to the prop- 
erty, knowing that, in former years, he had been the solici- 
tor through whose hands it had passed from the Daly fami- 
ly. He found Mr. Carroll in the very best of humors. After 
they had conversed for some time, the gentleman said, 

“ Do you know any person who intends bidding for it ? 
I suppose it will go for a song.” 

“Well,” replied Carroll, “ I don’t know but that if I see 
it going for what you say, I may strike up a stave myself. 
What would you say to a duet ? I should think that our 
voices are about equally bad. The commissioners might 
knock either ourselves or the property down, to stop us,” 
and he walked about the office, rubbing his hands, and seem- 
ingly quite tickled with his own wit. 


498 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ Ah, Carroll,” said the gentleman, “ you attorneys are 
all in good humor now ; these are glorious times for your 
profession.” 

“ To be sure they are,” he replied. “ When the eagle is 
dead, the vulture feeds. But I must be off ; you’ll excuse me.” 

“ Going down to court ?” asked the other. 

“ No, I am going to spend the day at Kingstown. Splendid 
weather for taking a walk on the pier, and seeing the pack- 
et coming in. Jennings (to his clerk) when I am gone, lock 
up the office and give yourself a holiday.” 

The visitor opened his eyes, as he remarked, “ a solicitor 
giving his clerk a holiday, these times, is rather unusual.” 

“My friend,” said Mr. Carroll, “I will be very much dis- 
appointed if this day does not turn out about the happiest 
one in my life, therefore I intend marking it with red chalk; 
that is, putting a little red into Jennings’ cheeks, so come 
along, you, to smell old musty parchment, in the offices of 
the Encumbered Estates Court, and I, to take a sniff of 
the sea.” 

“ The sea, the sea, — the free unbounded sea,” 
sang Mr. Carroll, as he took his hat from the rack. When 
he turned round, his visitor was regarding him with such a 
surprised air, that he shook with laughter. 

“ Don’t, don’t be afraid, my friend,” he said, as w r ell as 
his mirth would allow him, I’m not getting mad. Attor- 
neys never go mad,— a beautiful dispensation of Providence ! 
What would become of the community if they did, for every 
second man you meet has been bitten by one or other of 
them.” 

In an hour after, Mr. Carroll found himself on the pier of 
Kingstown. At the hour he arrived it was deserted, save 
by a few idle boatmen, who sat or lounged about the stone 
steps leading to the water. On the gentleman’s approach 
they all jumped up, exclaiming, “boat your honor.” 

“Af you’re taking the missus and the young ladies, sir, 
over to see the frigate,” commenced one of them, when he 
was interrupted by another with — 

“ Hold your tongue ; listen to the way he talks to the jon- 
tleman, as af he had his family, like his pocket liankerchy, 
rowled up in his pocket. Af you’re going on the water, 
sir, there you are.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


499 


“Don’t look at her, sir ; bad ’cess to me, but af you do, 
she'll make you saysick. But there’s a clipper, your honor, 
handy, at the steps.” 

Mr. Carroll assured them that he did not require their 
services, whereupon, the professional badinage ceased. 

“ I wonder,” thought Mr. Carroll, as he walked up and 
down the pier, “ if we will recognize each other. Of the 
two, I must be the more changed. Well, twenty years must 
have altered us both, but I feel assured that I will know 
him.” 

By degrees, parties of twos and threes came strolling 
down to the piers, and as the hour for the arrival of the 
Liverpool packet approached, it became crowded with the 
fashionables of Kingstown ancl Dublin. At length the pack- 
et was sighted, and Mr. Carroll watched her approach in 
nervous anxiety. As she neared the pier, he strained his 
eyes to try if he could recognize, on her deck, the person 
whom he waited for. There was a tall form standing apart 
from the others, on the quarter-deck, gazing on the land 
they were approaching, could it be him? As the vessel 
came alongside, in the confusion which followed, Mr. Carroll 
lost sight of this person, but when the gangway was run 
out, he placed himself at one end of it, to watch the pai- 
sengerj, as they passed out. First came a little fat man, 
puffing and trotting, then a very tall, thin man, then a 
young lady, then an old lady and a parrot, with a strong 
family likeness to each other ; but none of these were like 
his friend. Then there was a rush, and Mr. Carroll was be- 
ginning to fear that the person for whom he waited might 
have passed him unobserved, when he saw the same gen- 
tleman w T hom he had noticed on the quarter deck, approach 
the gangway. He had a foreign air, his face was browned, 
and he wore a large moustache. 

“No matter,” thought the attorney, “I know his proud 
eye,” and rushing forward, he seized the stranger’s hand, 
just as the foot of the latter touched the shore. 

“ Welcome!” he exclaimed, “a thousand welcomes. AY el- 
come once more to Ireland. Don’t you know me ?” 

“It would be hard to forget so good a friend,” said Henry 
Daly, returning the warm pressure of the other’s hand. 


500 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ My dear Mr. Carroll, how kind of you to come to meet 
me on my landing. How are you, my dear friend?” 

“ Ten years younger from seeing you back again,” replied 
the attorney. 

“ Yes,” said Henry Daly, “ my foot is, once more, on Irish 
soil.” 

Those who were near enough to overhear what he said, 
turned round and looked at him. 

“ Speak low, my friend,” said Carroll, who spoke quite 
loud himself, “ or thosp good people will say you are Tone, 
resuscitated. D — n me, I don’t know but that it is treason, 
nowadays, to say one has his foot on the ground. Come,” 
he continued, taking Daly’s arm, and hurrying him to the 
railway station, while two porters followed after with the 
baggage, “ I long to have you to myself ; you are to dine with 
me. Not a word ; mine must be the first house that you enter. 
I have a thousand things to say to you, to ask you, — a thous- 
and warnings to give you ; oh we’ll surprise some people. 
Get in, the train will start in a moment, and now once more 
you are welcome,” and he again shook Henry’s hand, as they 
took their seats in the railway car. 

“ You will pardon me,” said Henry, “if I do not appear 
as grateful as I really am for your warm welcome home ; 
but, as yet, I feel like one in a dream, in which forms and 
things pass in a confused medley before him.” 

“ Of course,” replied his friend, “ I know pretty well the 
way you must feel.” 

“ I have to thank you, too, at a more fitting time, for the 
honorable interest you took in my affairs, when I was far 
away.” 

“Well,” replied the attorney, “ I do give myself credit 
for the way matters were managed. You are a lucky man, 
Mr. Daly. When most of the others are losing their prop- 
erties, you are about to get back yours. But it must not 
be known that you are here to bid for it, or O’Boarke’s 
creditors would put it up to a high figure. You must re- 
main incog, until after the sale’” 

“ There is iittle fear, I think, of my being recognized. I 
never had an extensive acquaintance in Dublin.” 

“ No matter for that, there are plenty of your country 


# THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 501 

friends in town. They have come up to witness their speedy 
ruin, by this new court; for landed property, at present, is 
of no value in Ireland, and, in no instance, have I seen a 
surplus coming To the owner after the sale.” 

When the two friends reached Dublin, Mr. Carroll would 
have Henry Daly put up at his house during his stay, but 
this the latter declined doing, so they drove, in the first 
instance, to an hotel, and then to Mr. Carroll’s house. 

“ I need not be particular about my toilet,” said Henry, 
“ as you are still a bachelor.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Daly,” replied the other, “ a confirmed bach- 
elor. I was not rich enough, when young, to take a wife, and 
I am fool enough to do so now that I am old.” 

The solicitor was very anxious that his client should not 
appear in court during the sale of Dalystown, lest some of 
those interested might recognize him, but Henry had made 
up his mind to be present, and all that he could be got to 
promise was, that he would allow his friend to bid for him. 
On the day of sale, the latter would, by no means, be seen 
entering the court with Henry. So when the attorney had 
bustled in and taken his seat amongst his professional breth- 
ren, Henry followed after and took his seat at the iurther 
end of the court. 

As there were two properties to be sold before the Da- 
lystown one, he had plenty of time to make his observa- 
tions on the scene before him. At first it was nothing more 
than a confused crowd of business men, running in and out, 
with red-taped bundles of papers under their arms, one or 
the other of whom was continually addressing the court, in 
what, to Henry, was almost unintelligible jargon ; but by- 
and bye the different features in this scene became more 
distinct. 

Here was the dandified, smirking, commissioner’s clerk, 
sitting under, the bench; presently he jumps up, turning 
his head to one side, like a contemplative magpie, whilst 
one of the commissioners whispers to him; then, as he as- 
sumes his seat, he gives the attorneys’ clerks around a look, 
which says, you see what an intimate footing we are on. 
Here was the learned counsel, who, in scratching his head, 
had misplaced his wig, so that it would likely have fallen 


502 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


off, had it not got a rest on the tip of his Roman nose ; lie 
sits listlessly playing with the strings of his bag; the law 
of this court is but a bagatelle to him, while his eyes are 
directed towards the ceiling, as if contemplating a flight of 
J ohn Does and Richard Roes. Here was the wiry-haired, ter- 
rier-like attorney’s clerk, giving a flippant, careless answer 
to the pale, care-worn man who has just asked him a ques- 
tion, and whose patrician features and gentlemanly bearing, 
savor of the castle — though a ruined one — a mile off. Poor 
gentleman ! — so cowed down is he ; so totally out of his el- 
ement here, that with nerve which would bring him to the 
cannon’s mouth, he yet fears, in this motley crowd, to raise 
liis voice, and when he does find courage to make a remark 
aloud, on seeing his property about to be confiscated before 
his eyes, his interlerence is deemed officious by all present, 
down to the wiry-haired attorney’s clerk. 

And here was Hie fat, purse-proud grazier, and the pomp- 
ous grocer, feeling frightfully uncomfortable in their new 
clothes ; the grazier driving the nails of his thumb into 
the table before him, as he is in the habit of treating the 
backs of the sheep, and the grocer looking down every 
moment at his new black satin waistcoat, fearing to find a 
spot of molasses on it. 

These two persons are treated with great respect, both 
by the attorneys and the terriers, for they are here to buy 
portions of the poor gentleman’s property. 

After a little bidding and a good deal of laughter, set ago- 
ing by a heavy attempt at wit, on the part of the heaviest 
of the commissioners, the poor gentleman is ruined, and 
another property set up and knocked down with the like 
satisfactory result, as regards its owner, and then the lands 
and demesne of Dalystown were set up, to be sold to the high- 
est bidder. 

As Henry Daly heard the name mentioned he could not 
restrain a start, which was noticed by a grayheaded old man, 
who had entered the court a short time before, and who 
had kept his eyes fixed on Daly ever since. This was no 
other than our old acquaintance, Lyons ; for as Patrick sat 
in high places, u to show how good a thing it is to serve 
the Lord,” so did Lyons still sit amongst attorneys, to 
show how good a thing it is to serve the 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


503 


“ By G muttered Lyons, “I think it is him; but no, 

I would have heard something of his coming. And there is 
Carroll, — if this was Daly he would be with him. If I thought 
he had come back to buy the property, I would salt it on 
him, and save the last two thousand I lent that blasted fool, 
Tim. Is there no one I can ask?” 

At this moment Mr. Carroll approached near to where 
Lyons sat ; the latter caught him by the skirt of the coat. 

“ What do you want ?” said Carroll, turning round. 

u Do you know of any one who is going to bid ?” asked 
Lyons. 

“ Why do you ask ?” 

“ Because some one told me that Daly had come back to 
buy the property.” 

u Ah, poor fellow, when last I heard of him, he was lying 
at death’s door, in New Orleans.” 

fi * Then, by G — , that’s his ghost.” 

“ Where ?” said Carroll, seemingly in great surprise. 

“ There, on the back seat,” replied Lyons. 

t. My good sir,” replied the other, “ don’t you know who 
that is ? That’s Count Pollywasy, the great Polish traveler. 
You do not mix in good society, Lyons, or you would have 
met him before this.” 

This raised a laugh against Lyons, and Carroll’s acting was 
so admirably cool that the former was quite deceived by it. 

The bidding now commenced, and, after a short time, Mr. 
Carroll was declared the purchaser. 

“Have you purchased in trust, Mr. Carroll ?” asked the 
chief commissioner, Baron Richards. 

“ Yes, my lord.” 

“ Then please to sign the book. Hand Mr. Carroll the 
book.” 

“ As the gentleman for whom I made the purchase, is 
present, had he not better sign himself?” said the solicitor. 

•‘Oh, certainly,” replied the commissioner. 

Mr. Carroll beckoned to Henry. 

His tall figure, gentlemanly air, and foreign look, caused 
a little excitement as he approached to where the clerk held 
the book open. There was a crushing, and a straining of 
necks as he wrote, with a steady hand, “ Henry Daly.” 


604 : 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“I knew it,” said Lyons, drawing back. “ Why did I not 
believe my own eyes, instead of that fellow, and his d — d 
Count Pollywasy.” 

There was quite a buzz amongst those acquainted with 
the property, when Henry wrote his name. Baron Rich- 
ards asked to see the book. 

“ Daly,” he said, “ why, that was the name of the family 
to whom this property formerly belonged.” 

“ And I have great pleasure, my lord,” replied Mr. Car- 
roll, “ in presenting to you the representative of that an- 
cient family, Mr. Henry Daly, come back to claim his own 
again.” 

The commissioner rose from his seat and shook hands 
with Henry. 

“ I congratulate you, Mr. Daly,” he said. We seldom have 
an opportunity of witnessing a happy occurrence of this 
kind. I congratulate you in all sincerity.” 

Henry then turned and gave a warm shake hands to his 
good friend, Mr. Carroll, after which, many of those present 
tendered to him their congratulations. But he longed to 
be alone. Beneath a calm exterior, there were feelings 
that he found it difficult to suppress ; therefore, leaving his 
solicitor in conversation with the clerk, he hurried from the 
court. 

Lyons had preceded Henry, and now waited for him, in 
the passage leading out. The latter had not noticed him 
before, but the moment he approached, his face wearing its 
old cringing smile, he at once recognized him. 

“ How do you do, my dear sir,” said Lyons. “ I am de- 
lighted to see you at home again, and in possession of your 
property. We are friends, I hope, Mr. Daly ?” and the fel- 
low stuck out his hand. 

“ Let me pass, old man,” said Henry. 

Lyons Jieard a titter behind him, from some persons who 
had witnessed his reception. It angered him and made him 
forget who it was he confronted. 

“ I want to make some enquiries of you, sir,” he replied, 
“ about my nephew, that you kidnapped out of the countiy, 
years ago.” 

“Murderer of my father,” exclaimed Henry Daly, in a 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN 


505 


burst of ungovernable passion, “ out of my way, or I’ll tram- 
ple you under foot,” and, Hinging Lyons against the wall, he 
passed out into the open air. 

“ I thought,” he said to himself, as he traversed the street, 
with rapid steps, “ to be at peace, to-day, with all men.” 

When he reached his hotel, he passed quickly through the 
hall, nor stopped until he reached his own private room. 
Entering, he shut the door and drew from his bosom, a min- 
iature ; as he gazed upon it, tears started from his eyes and 
ran down his sunburnt cheeks. 

“ Oh, father— father I” he exclaimed, “ had you but lived 
to see this day !” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

On the evening of the second day after Henry Daly had 
purchased back his family property, he set out, on horse- 
back, from the town of T , on his way to Dalystown. 

In two days from this, the sherifl was to give him formal 
possession, but he resolved that his first visit to his old home 
should be made alone, and before his presence in the neigh- 
borhood had become known. 

From time to time, he reined up his horse to look around 
on the familiar landscape, changed but little in the years 
that had passed, save that it now wore a desolate look. — 
Not a living thing was to be seen in the fields or along the 
road he traveled. But those halts were short, for his heart 
was throbbing wildly to again behold his home. 

The next rising ground would bring him close to where 
the demesne wall commenced, and in full view of the place. 
Driving the spurs into his horse’s sides, he galloped forward, 


506 


THE DALYS OP DALYSTOWN. 


reached the top of the hill, and there, in the calm light of 
evening, lay the old place, stretched out before him ; the 
crows wheeling round, and the gray turrets and gables peep- 
ing through the trees. 

Henry paused but to take one glance, and then dashed 
forward again. 

How wonderful and mysterious is the mechanism of the 
human heart, how finely connected its many chords ! Touch 
but one rudely, and all its music jars. 

But a moment before, Henry Daly could have shouted, in 
very joy, but now, as he stopped before the entrance to his 
home, the look of neglect and desolation which the place 
wore, filled him with a sudden, indescribable gloom, — that 
unaccountable sadness which frequently accompanies the 
realization of our hopes. The rusty gate, broken off its 
hinges, the empty gate-house, the grass-grown avenue — all 
these could be easily set to right again, and were not, in 
themselves, sufficient to account for the reaction which he 
felt, but they had struck a chord, and his whole soul vibrat- 
ed with thoughts of the past — of things and beings that 
could never be restored. 

Dismounting from his horse, he led him up the avenue, 
and when he came opposite the house, he left him tied by 
the rein to a tree, and advanced with a hurried step. A 
half shutter of one of the parlor windows was open, and, 
placing his face close to the glass, he peered into the room. 

It was entirely empty of furniture. The oil paint on the 
walls was the same, the polished oak wainscotting still re- 
mained, but, from dampness, a portion of the ceiling had 
fallen down, and the floor was covered with rubbish. But 
what gave the room its most desolate, cold look, was, that the 
ample grate had been torn from its setting and carried away, 
leaving a dark, ckve-like opening, while the top slab of the 
marble mantle piece, lay broken in two across the hearth. 
Altogether, it was the personification of a deserted lietrth, 
and, with a deep sigh, Henry turned away. 

“ I cannot,” he murmured, “ with that cold, dead look 
around it, picture it to myself as it was of old.” 

It was a relief to turn to the wide park, for here, at least, 
he was rejoiced to see no change. After a little, he again 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


507; 


turned to the house and endeavored to open the hall door 
but it was locked ; he then entered the yard. Here again, 
the evidence of decay smote upon his heart ; its pavement, 
once kept polished by the tramp of many feet, was now 
of a dry grayish white, with tufts of moss and wild grass 
scattered here and there ; some of the roofs of the offices 
had fallen in and many of them were without doors or 
windows. Henry went over to where the horse block still 
stood and sat down upon it. 

“ For twenty years,” he said, “ surrounded by all that 
should make me happy, I have sighed for the hour in which 
I should again behold you ! Why then is it with sadness 
alone that you now fill my heart?” 

Lost in reverie, he took no heed of time, so that it was 
almost dark before he arose and proceeded to where he 
had left his horse. 

While Henry was sitting in the yard a man crossed the 
park towards the house ; seeing the horse tied, he stopped 
and looked at him, then he went over, walked round the 
animal, examined the saddle and bridle, and having satis- 
fied himself that he was unacquainted, both with the horse 
and his trappings, he said : 

“ There’s a stranger looking at the old place.” Then he- 
commenced patting and speaking to the horse, and seeing 
that the animal was endeavoring to put down his head to 
the grass he untied the rein, saying : 

“ Poor beast, I’ll hold you and let you take a bit of the- 
green grass.” 

Throwing himself at full length on the ground, it seemed 
to give him the most lively pleasure to watch the hungry 
horse grazing, and thus he remained until Henry arose to 
leave the yard. The stillness around, and the position of 
the man’s ear, close to the ground, made the sound of the 
visitor’s foosteps audible, even before he had left the yard. 
The man at first started as if about to rise, but in the next 
moment he had thrown himself fiat upon his face, remain- 
ing as immovable as if he had fallen dead. 

Tramp — tramp, sounded the steps through the deserted 
yard! 


33 


508 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWH. 


“ It’s himself,” shouted the man, springing up. “ Alanah — 
alanah machree, where — where are you ?” 

Henry was not slow to recognize that faithful voice. 

“Here, Tom,” he exclaimed, running forward, “here my 
poor faithful fellow,” and in a moment after Tom Gallaher 
fell sobbing at his feet. 

Disengaging Tom’s hands that were twined around him, 
Henry raised his old servitor in his arms, and thus encour- 
aged, Tom looked into his face, and with a gush of affection, 
kissed him on both cheeks. Then he danced round him, 
fondled him, rubbed down his clothes with both hands, all 
the time addressing to him the most endearing and child- 
like epithets. 

It was long before he got sobered down so that Henry 
could speak to him. 

u Tom, it is getting late,” he said, “ we must leave this now, 
I am going over to the Grove to-night, but in two days’ time 
we shall return here and you need never leave the old place 
again. It is mine now, Tom ; mine,” he repeated, looking 
proudly round. 

Tom remained for a little while silent; he was endeav- 
oring to comprehend all this ; then peering into his com- 
panion’s face, and pointing to the house now looming indis- 
tinctly through the fading light, he said — 

“ And will it be, Master Henry, as of old?” 

Henry laid his hand kindly on his shoulder : 

“To you, Tom, I hope it may.” 

“ See now, I know by your voice, that I brought the sor- 
rowful thought to you, and I mind what it is, Master Henry. 
All the money they say you made in furrin parts, can nev- 
er bring back the old master to us again.” 

Henry was deeply moved, as he replied. “ We will still 
love the old place, Tom, because he loved it.” 

“ And Miss Emily, Master Henry ?” 

“ She will come here some day, Tom, and you will see 
her.” 

“ Why didn’t she come with you ?” 

“ You know, Tom, that she is married.” 

“ So they told me, long ago, but I misremembered it.” 

“ Come now, Tom,” said Henry, “ I will mount, and you 
will trot by my side, as you used to do, in times gone by.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


509 


Tom ran and held the stirrup for Henry, as he mounted, 
and when the latter gave him one of his old smiles, the 
poor fellow became intoxicated with joy, and his hand 
shook so that Henry found it difficult to get his foot into 
the stirrup. 

“You are out of practice, Master Tom,” he said, in his 
cheerful tone, so like his old self, as Tom afterwards said, 
that Tom’s hand shook twice as much. 

“ Oh, murder !” he said, “ if this is one of them dreams 
that do be deluding me, it would kill me out and out to 
waken.” 

“No fear, no fear, Tom,” replied Henry. “ I’ll engage you 
never dreamed that,” and he knocked Tom’s hat down over 
his eyes. 

It was an excellent way of convincing him of the reality 
of his present happiness, for a thousand times had Henry 
played the same trick upon him. 

Tom pulled the hat off, waved it over his head, and giving 
a loud tallyho, headed the horse down the avenue. But, 
in a moment afterwards, he was back again at his master’s 
side, looking up into his face, and giving child-like laughs. 
Then he commenced telling Henry different circumstances 
which had occurred in his absence. 

“ And sure they told me,” he said, “ that the place was 
Tim O’Roarke’s ; and sure enough that villain of an attorney, 
his uncle, kem here one day and told me he didn’t want 
me about the place at all, and I ups and tells him I’d a bet- 
ter right to be in it than himself, and then he raised his 
whip, but I tuck a two year old stone in the heel of my fist, 
and af it wasn’t for thim that were present, I’d mark him 
so that I’d know him again. He brought me before the 
coort for it, but the doctor, glory be to his bed this night, 
kem with me, and all the gentlemen tuck my part. Old 
Mr. Warburton — God rest his soul — told him he ought to be 
ashamed of himself, and faith he went away lewd enough ; 
and never put to me, or from me, ever after. Indeed I did’nt 
keep much in his way, for it used to hurt my eyes to see 
him near the place at all, at all.” 

“ Was Tim O’Roarke often down here, Tom ?” asked Henry. 

“ Never a one of him kem, but seldom ; and I’ll tell no lies, 


510 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


whenever I met him he spoke civil enough to myself, and 
told me I was welcome to come whenever I liked.’’ 

“ He will not be sorry for that, Tom,” replied Henry. 

As they went up the Grove avenue Tom slipped away 
to announce his master’s approach. Charles Kelly, whom 
Henry had left a boy, now a married man, and owner of the 
Grove, hurried out to meet him. 

Most cordial was the greeting between the two friends. 

“ Why did you not let us know of your coming ?” said 
Charles Kelly, as he conducted his friend into the house. 
“I had a letter from Mr. Carroll, conveying the good news, 
but he did not say that you intended coming down so soon. 
I was not looking for you before next week.” 

“I wished to take you all by surprise, Charles.” 

“ And a most joyful one you have given to us,” answered 
the other. 

After Henry had been introduced to Mrs. Kelly, he look- 
ed around the room. It was the same in which he had spent 
so many pleasant evenings with the old doctor. The fur- 
niture remained the same and it wore its old familiar look. 
Henry sank into a chair and shaded his face with his hand ; 
Charles Kelly approached him. 

“ You miss him, Henry,” he said. 

“ I do, I do,” he replied. “ Alas ! that he to whom I owe 
all is not here to welcome me back.” 

“ Come with me,” said his friend, and he led him into the 
study, where a full-length portrait of the old man hung on 
the wall. 

“The last time that he returned from Dublin,” said his 
grandson, “ he brought this down with him. Hang it up 
there, Charley,” he said, and when Henry Daly returns — he 
always spoke of your doing so, with the greatest confidence 
— bring him in here to look at it.” 

Henry endeavored to speak, but there was a choking 
sensation about his throat that prevented him. 

“ I wrote to you, Henry, an account of his happy death,” 
continued Charles, “ but there was a circumstance con- 
nected with it, which, though making a lasting impression 
on those present, could not well be mentioned in a letter. 
Up to the last moment he retained his senses, and spoke to 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


511 


hs tranquilly, nay cheerfully. He had given orders that all 
who wished to bid him farewell should be admitted to his 
room, and there was a levee of mourners passing in and 
out during the entire day, but not one third of those who 
crowded round the house could be admitted. They en- 
deavored to make as little noise as possible; but the low 
tones, the stifled sobs of such a concourse, came distinct 
and loud through the open window. The doctor in atten- 
dance wished to put a stop to this, and spoke to me about 
having the people moved to a distance from the house ; 
grandfather overheard him, and beckoned me over to his 
side. 

“ Charley,” he said, “ do not allow the people to be re- 
moved; their grief disturbs me not; it is more soothing 
than the doctor’s stuff. It is sweet, my boy, to know, 
at such an hour, that human hearts, above all, the hearts of 
the lowly and poor, mourn for us. 

“No one was present when he took leave of grand- 
mamma, but on our return to the room they were convers- 
ing in low tones. Grandmamma’s face wore a calm, resigned 
look, and during the three years which she survived him, 
the expression that then became stamped on her features 
scarce ever altered a shade. I overheard her say to grand- 
father, in reply to something he had whispered to her, 
‘yes, James, I will wait patiently, until it pleases God to 
call upon me. He never spoke after this but once and then 
occurred the circumstance I alluded to just now.” 

“ Tell it to me, Charley,” said Henry, in a low voice. 

“We were standing round his bed, waiting for the mo- 
ment of his departure, when suddenly he opened his eyes. 
Henry, before this, and before he had closed them, we re- 
marked the film of death gathering over them, but now 
they were bright, joyfully bright. Then, in a clear, dis- 
tinct voice, he called upon the name of Jesus, and so ex- 
pired. I have never spoken of this outside my own family, 
except to you, but, in our own family circle, we believe, 
that even before his death, grandfather caught a reflection 
of the glory that awaited him.” 

Thus, standing before his likeness, Henry Daly listened 
to an account of the death ot his old and true friend, and 


512 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


the strong man, his feelings subdued, hushed, by the recital, 
wept in silence. 

It was late that night when the two friends parted. 
Henry, indeed, was already acquainted with most of what 
his friend had to tell him, for he had met James and Fred- 
erick Kelly in Dublin, the former now a barrister, and the 
latter a medical student ; little Fanny, too, was married and 
living with her husband in Dublin. 

“I never thought, Charles,” said Henry, “ how old I had 
become, until I saw Fanny a married woman. And so 
Anthony O’Kelly is still a bachelor, and Patrick and Mi- 
chael gone to Australia.” 

“ Yes,” replied Charles, “ But it seeing Fanny made you 
feel old, a sight of Anthony will surely have a contrary ef- 
fect. He is just the same. I don’t think,” he continued, 
laughing, “ that he got a day older since you were here.” 

“How is he circumstanced?” asked Henry. 

“ Oh, he is well enough off, for a bachelor,” replied the 
other. “ He is not in debt. At his father’s death there 
were no incumbrances on the property, save the younger 
children’s portions. After Patrick and Michael were some 
time in Australia, they sent Anthony a full release for these.” 

“They were always well united brothers,” said Henry. 

“ But I must tell you that they did this in a very wise way, 
for they wrote to Anthony, saying they presented him with 
their claims, in order that he, the head of their house, should 
be unembarrassed, and they expected* him to remain so. 
Now, this prevents Anthony from running into debt, for he 
deems that he is bound, in honor, to keep the property 
clear.” 

“ Like O’Kelly,” said Henry. “ This will be more bind- 
ing on him than a code of laws. We must make an early 
start, to-morrow, for Crearen. I would have written to An- 
thony, but Carroll would not allow me to communicate with 
any one, lest it might leak out that I was about to purchase 
the property.” 

“Well, we’ll have glorious fun,” replied the other. “If 
Anthony has not read an account of the sale in the papers, 
he cannot fail to hear of it by to-morrow ; as you say, we 
will make an early start, and surprise him.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


513 


“ The sheriff, I hope, will meet me here on the day after to- 
morrow, to go with me to Dalystown, to give possession. I 
cannot tell you, Charles, the pleasure it gave me to see, by 
the rent-roll, that many of the old tenants still remain on 
the property. I feared that I would have found them all 
exterminated.” 

“Those of them that remain, Henry, you will find in a 
very wretched condition.” 

“ Oh, no doubt, but a little raises a poor man ; and, much 
or little, I will raise them. But it seems Tim O’Roarke fol- 
lowed not in his father’s footsteps, or they would have been 
hunted away years ago.” 

“ He certainly,” replied Kelly, “ never evinced any incli- 
nation to tyrannize, and I believe Lyons, while acting as his 
agent, found it more profitable to let them remain, as he 
was continually extorting money from them. You know 
that Tim never lived in the place, — that for some years it 
has been out of his possession, altogether, with a receiver 
over it ; for, between his own foolish extravagance, and his 
uncle’s management, Tim squandered, in a few years, the 
ample means left to him by his father.” 

“Lyons will lose thousands, that he first robbed him of, 
and then lent back to him.” 

“ I cannot say I am sorry for it,” said Henry. “ O’Roarke 
and he are not friends, I hear.” 

“No,” replied Charles Kelly, “not for some years back; 
even Tim had brains enough to learn that Lyons had fooled 
and robbed him. Hid you meet O’Roarke in Dublin ?”' 

“ No, I hear the unfortunate fellow is in prison for some 
trifling debt. I intend, on my return to Dublin, to go see 
him. I must tell you, Charles, a plan 1 have formed rela- 
tive to him. You know that, in all probability, had any 
other person become the purchaser of Dalystown, I would 
have found it difficult, perhaps impossible, to get it back, 
even though I should be willing to pay far more than the 
value for it; but Tim’s folly, and the deplorable state of the 
country, have thrown it into my hands, for one third of its 
value. This being the case, I can afford to be generous, 
and I intend settling on Tim an annuity, which will keep 
him from want.” 


514 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“ This is, indeed, generous of you,” said Kelly. 

“ I think, Charles, it is only just,” replied Henry. “ Ilis 
father, you will remember, gave a large sum for the proper- 
ty, I have got it back for much less, so I owe Tim some- 
thing. That is the way to look at it, and the way I intend 
putting it to O’Koarke, for I don’t want to play Lord Boun- 
tiful, or to hurt his feelings by having him to suppose him- 
self merely a pensioner on my generosity.” 

And here I may as well inform the reader that Henry 
Daly fully carried out his intentions towards O’Koarke, and 
Tim is as happy, perhaps happier, than he ever was. He 
has no care, and can dress well ; by this, I mean that he can 
afford to wear showy waistcoats and scarfs ; for as to dress- 
ing like a gentleman, that is out of the question, although 
much of his fortune has been wasted in the attempt. Tim’s 
former career, although foolish in the extreme, was far from 
being vicious, he was neither a gambler or a drunkard. He 
did, to be sure, give champagne suppers to officers and fast 
men, — devilish fast, for they disappeared like a flash, when 
the suppers were all eaten, — and got laughed at in return ; 
but this is all past now, and since Tim’s fast pace has chang- 
ed into a pleasant, lounging gait, he has become inti- 
mate in almost all the boarding houses in Dublin. He drops 
into one or other of them continually on evenings, to tell 
the old ladies, laid up there in dock, the light news that is 
continually flying about the Irish metropolis. 

This embraces a very wide field of gossip, for there is a 
connection between all classes in Dublin, and poor Mrs. 
Clancy of Petticoat lane, while buying her pound of bro- 
ken meat, is posted up on what the Lord Lieutenant gave 
Lord Howth and Bishop Whately for dinner, the last day 
that they dined at the Viceregal Lodge. Nevertheless, Dub- 
lin is lamentably deficient in scandal, which gives such 
piquant flavor to the gossip’s dish ; for it is a moral city* 
not in outward show but in reality, and in the place of scan- 
dal, there is a rich vein of humor, of sparkling wit, that 
makes Dublin gossip delightful to all except to ladies of 
doubtful ages and uncertain tempers. 

During the day, Tim is to be found lounging at Dycer’s 
horse repository, or at Mitchel’s cigar store, unless, during 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


515 


the fashionable hours in the afternoon, when he loves to 
show his figure in Grafton street. He still speaks and boasts 
of his Galway property, and so habituated and confirmed 
has this habit become, that his friends say he actually 
believes, himself, all he says. 

“Well,” said Charles Kelly, “ I must say, Henry, tha.t 
I approve of what you are going to do for Tim Q’JRoarke ; 
one thing you will be glad to hear about him, and that is, 
when he was down here, he was very kind to Tom Gallaher, 
though Lyons actually did his best to have the poor fellow 
taken up as a dangerous vagrant.” 

“ Tom has told me something of this,” answered Henry. 
“ But tell me, Charles, do you think had Tom any idea of 
my being in the country ?” 

“ Not the slightest. I kept it scrupulously concealed from 
every person, Tom in particular, though I longed to tell it 
to him.” 

“Then he recognized my footsteps, this evening. I sup- 
pose he will have the news of my arrival noised about the 
neighborhood early enough to-morrow.” 

“No doubt of that. You will have every man, woman, 
and child on the lands of Dalystown, here to-morrow.” 

“We must prevent this, Charles. I tell you what I will 
do, I will send Tom, early in the morning, to tell them that 
I will be at Dalystown the day after. Unless you can in- 
duce Anthony to return with us, I must spend to-morrow 
at Crearen. I would not have the people coming here in my 
absence, and, to tell you the truth, I am romantic enough 
to wish to meet them first at the old place, when it is ren- 
dered up to me.” 

Though, as I have said, it was late when the two friends 
retired to rest, they set out early the next morning, and ar- 
rived at Crearen before Anthony O’Kelly had left his bed. 
When the servant told them that he had not yet risen, they 
went in front of the house and commenced throwing sand 
up against the bedroom window. Thus besieged, Anthony 
jumped up and and came to the window, but seeing a stran- 
ger, as he supposed, with Charles Kelly, he was about mak- 
ing a hasty retreat, when Henry called out, 

“ Anthony — Anthony, don’t you know me ?” 


516 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


“Thunder!” exclaimed O’Kelly, “it is Henry Daly!” 

With that he dashed back from the window, and, half dress- 
ed, hurried down stairs to meet Henry at the hall door, to 
hug him in his arms, drag him by both hands into the par- 
lor and then perform several evolutions round the room, to 
the great delight of Henry, who said, 

“ Thank God, I find something unchanged in Ireland.” 

“What is that?” asked O’Kelly. 

“Yourself, Anthony.” 

“ What should change me ?” said the other, in such unaf- 
fected surprise, that both his friends laughed heartily. 

“ But you, Henry.” said O’Kelly, looking at him, “ why you 
have got as brown as a berry, and eh ! what, — are those 
gray hairs I see ? Oh, my poor fellow, where have you been ! 
I suppose you never saw a hunt or a race since you left us ?” 

“Not one, Anthony.” 

“No wonder then, that you should have some gray hairs. 
By George, I Would have been white in half the time under 
like circumstances. But when did you arrive ?” 

“I arrived in Dublin eight days ago, and I am again mas- 
ter of Dalystown, Anthony.” 

“ Hurrah ! hurrah !” shouted O’Kelly, again dancing round 
the room. Then he suddenly stopped before Henry, and 
said, in a reproachful tone, whilst his face flushed, 

“ You are in Ireland eight days. You have purchased back 
Dalystown, and I have heard nothing of all this until now ! 
Ah, Henry, I fear something else must have changed, even 
more than your hair, or this would not be.” 

“ I can explain this, Anthony,” said Daly, taking his friend’s 
hand. “ In the meantime believe, as you surely must, that 
Henry Daly’s heart never changed to the dear friend of his 
youth.” 

O’Kelly grasped the hand he held, in both his own, and a 
tear started to his eye, It was fully an hour before he 
thought of returning to his room to dress. 

“ Do you hear, sir,” he said to the servant, “ get break- 
fast, and while we are waiting for it, just go and set the hag- 
gart on fire. But mind, Henry, I must have the explana- 
tion you have promised, or” 

“ You will shoot me, Anthony.” 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 


517 


“No, faith, Henry,” he replied, again taking his friend’s 
hand, “ but I’ll scold you when I’m tired bidding you wel- 
come.” 

During the day, Charles Kelly persuaded Anthony to 
return with them to the Grove, and the next morning, ac- 
cording to appointment, the sheriff arrived there. 

Before they set out for Dalystown, a number of the neigh- 
boring gentry, having heard of Henry’s arrival, called up- 
on him, and they now, one and all, proposed to accompany 
him to Dalystown ; so he set out to take possession of his 
old home, escorted by quite a cavalcade of friends. But, 
as they approached Dalystown, the whole country seemed 
to have turned out to do him honor. 

“ I really,” said the sheriff, “ did not suppose there were 
so many people in the country.” 

A large bonfire blazed at the gate, and as the carriage, 
in which Henry Daly sat, drove up, cheer upon cheer rent 
the air. 

Those who had known him in years gone by now rushed 
forward to welcome him, to kiss his hand, or even to get one 
glance of recognition from his eye, while women held up 
little children to gaze upon him. 

All this was very different from his lonely visit two even- 
ings before ; very different to enter thus in the broad light 
of day, surrounded by friends, to see too, how his presence 
lighted up with joy the careworn faces of those around him. 
And Henry felt the difference ; his heart throbbed with 
triumph. Here was realized that which he had dreamt of 
in the forests of America. His toils, his constancy, his 
brave loyal love to the land of his birth, to the home of his 
youth, were all repaid in that hour of triumph. 

As the crowd pressed around, a voice cried out — 

“ Take the horses from the carriage, boys, and draw him 
up.” 

“ No,” said Henry, springing from the carriage, “not so 
shall I enter my home ; I come, my friends, from a country 
where horses are left to do horses’ work, and men do only 
the work of men.” 

He then took O’Kelly’s arm and entered through the 
arched gateway, but as he proceeded up the avenue, he had 


518 


THE DALYS OF DALYSTOWN. 

each moment to stay his steps, to turn and greet some hum- 
ble friend, whilst on every side he heard, “Don’t you re- 
member me, Mr, Henry ? Oh, but you’re welcome back 
asthore. Praise be to God, we see a Daly in Dalystown 
once more !” 

Henry’s heart was touched to the very core. When he 
reached the house and ascended the broad steps leading to 
the hall door, he turned ; his face was pale, and his voice 
shook as he essayed to speak, but there was truth and fire 
in his eyes, — 

“My friends,” he said, “ here, on the threshold of my old 
home, standing in the presence of my God, I promise you 
that I shall wall round my property with the smiling cot- 
tages of a tenantry whose 4, interests and^mine shall be as 
one.” 

The promise, thus made, has been fulfilled. 


THE END. 










































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